OF  THE 

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The  Trail  Drivers 
of  Texas 


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Published  under  the  direction  of 


GEORGE  W.  SAUNDERS,  President  of 
THE  OLD  TRAIL  DRIVERS 
ASSOCIATION 


Compiled  and  Edited  by 

J.  MARVIN  HUNTER 


Copyright  1920 
By  George  \V.  Saunders 


GEORGE  W.  SAUNDERS 

President  and  Organizer  Old  Time  Trail  Drivers’  Association 


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FOREWORD. 


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This  volume  is  brought  forth  to  present  a link  in  the  long 
chain  of  Texas  history  that  cannot  well  be  spared  if  the  record 
is  “kept  straight,”  and  posterity  is  given  a true  account  of  the 
deeds  of  daring  and  heroism  of  the  early  pioneers  of  our  great 
state.  The  characters  mentioned  in  this  book  are  men  of 
sterling  worth  and  integrity,  as  has  been  proven  in  every  in- 
stance wherein  they  came  in  contact  with  the  problems  and 
difficulties  that  made  for  the  development  of  an  empire  so 
vast  in  its  possibilities  as  to  excite  the  envy  of  the  world. 
These  pages  sparkle  with  the  lustre  of  deeds  well  done  by  a 
passing  generation,  and  it  is  our  purpose  to  keep  bright  that 
lustre,  that  it  may  not  pale  with  the  fleeting  years. 

The  men  and  women,  the  pioneers  who  blazed  the  way  for 
the  present  day  civilization,  happiness  and  prosperity  in  Texas, 
are  looked  upon  with  the  greatest  respect  and  veneration.  Fif- 
ty years  ago  the  Indian,  the  buffalo  and  the  deer  roamed  at 
will  over  the  Texas  prairies.  A half  century  now  intervenes, 
but  today  prosperous  cities  dot  the  green  distances  and  men 
and  women  who  thirty-five  and  forty  years  ago  drifted  to  the 
great  and  boundless  West  with  hardly  a penny  are  today 
wealthy  and  “in  the  saddle”  in  the  State’s  affairs.  They  en- 
dured many  privations.  They  fought  for  what  they  believed 
was  right.  They  blazed  the  trail.  The  people  of  today,  the 
younger  generation,  are  not  unmindful  of  what  the  early  set- 
tlers did  for  them,  and  as  they  enjoy  the  splendid  prosperity 
that  is  theirs  they  silently  thank  the  earlier  ones. 

To  the  memory  of  the  old  trail  drivers,  the  Texas  pioneers 
— to  the  heroic  mothers,  fathers — to  the  young  and  the  brave 
who  fought  manfully  for  proud,  imperial  Texas,  this  volume  is 
lovingly  dedicated. 


v 3 


CM 


C\J  • 


4 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS. 

Before  the  advent  of  railroads  the  marketing  of  cattle  was  a 
problem  that  confronted  the  man  who  undertook  the  raising 
of  cattle  in  Texas.  The  great  expanse  of  unsettled  domain 
was  ideal  for  the  business.  No  wire  fences  were  here  to  limit 
the  range,  grass  was  knee  high,  and  cattle  roamed  freely  over 
the  hills,  valleys  and  prairies  of  Texas.  The  long-horn  was 
in  the  hey-day  of  his  glory.  The  limitless  range,  broken  by  no 
barrier,  extending  from  the  £ulf_to  Kansas,  offered  ample  op- 
portunities for  the  man  with  nerve  and  determination  in  this 
great  out-of-doors.  There  being  no  fences  he  allowed  his  cat- 
tle to  scatter  over  the  range,  but  at  times  he  would  round  them 
up  and  throw  them  back  in  the  vicinity  of  the  home  ranch 
when  they  strayed  too  far  away.  In  the  spring  the  big  “round- 
ups” usually  took  place,  when  all  of  the  cowmen  of  each  sec- 
tion would  participate,  coming  together. at  a stated  time,  gath- 
ering all  of  the  cattle  on  the  range,  and  branding  what  was 
rightfully  theirs.  Be  it  said  to  their  credit,  those  early  cowmen 
seldom  claimed  animals  that  belonged  to  a neighbor.  If  a 
cow  was  found  unbranded,  and  there  was  any  evidence  that 
she  belonged  to  some  cowman  not  present,  or  who, lived  over 
in  the  “next  neighborhood,”  the  owner  was  notified  and  usual- 
ly got  his  cow.  There  was  a noticeable  absence  of  greed  in 
those  days  in  the  cattle  business,  for  the  men  who  chose  that 
means  of  livelihood  were  of  that  whole-souled  big-hearted 
type  that  established  a rule  of  “live  and  let  live,”  and  where 
a man  was  suspected  of  being  a thief  he  was  watched  and  if 
the  suspicions  were  realized  that  man  found  that  particular 
neighborhood  to  be  a mighty  unhealthy  place  to  live  in.  Be- 
ing sparsely  settled  in  those  early  days,  the  ranches  being  from 
ten  to  fifty  miles  apart,  counties  unorganized  and  courts  very 
few,  every  man  in  a way  was  a “law  unto  himself,”  so  that 
speedy  justice  was  meted  out  to  offenders  whose  deeds  were 
calculated  to  encourage  lawlessness. 

Gradually  the  country  began  to  settle  up  with  people,  some 
coming  from  other  states  to  establish  homes  in  the  great  Lone 
Star  State,  and  in  the  course  of  time  the  cattle  industry  be- 
came the  leading  industry  of  this  region.  Farming  was  not 
thought  of,  more  than  to  raise  a little  corn  for  bread.  Beef 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


5 


was  to  be  had  for  the  asking,  or  wild  game  for  the  killing. 
Mustangs  furnished  mounts  for  the  cowman,  and  these  horses 
proved  their  value  as  an  aid  to  the  development  of  the  cat- 
tle industry.  A good  rider  could  break  a mustang  to  the  sad- 
dle in  a very  short  time,  and  for  endurance  these  Spanish 
ponies  had  no  equal.  Then  loomed  the  problem  of  finding 
a market  for  the  ever-increasing  herds  of  cattle  that  were 
being  produced  in  South  and  Southwest  Texas.  In  this  state 
there  was  no  demand  for  the  beef  and  hides  of  the  long-horn, 
but  in  other  states  where  the  population  was  greater  the 
beeves  were  needed.  Then  it  was  that  some  far-seeing  cow- 
man conceived  the  idea  of  getting  his  cattle  to  where  the  de- 
mand existed,  so  it  was  that  trail-driving  started.  A few  herds 
were  driven  to  Abilene,  Kansas,  on  the  Atchison,  Topeka  and 
Santa  Fe  Railroad,  and  the  venture  proved  so  successful  fi- 
nancially that  before  a great  while  everybody  began  to  send 
their  cattle  “up  the  trail.”  These  drives  were  not  unattended 
by  many  dangers,  as  a great  portion  of  the  route  was  through 
a region  infested  by  hostile  Indians,  and  many  times  the  red- 
skins carried  off  the  scalps  of  venturesome  cowboys. 

For  many  years  the  trail-driving  continued,  or  until  those 
great  arteries  of  commerce,  the  railroads,  began  to  penetrate 
the  stock-raising  region,  and  then  gradually  the  cow-puncher, 
whose  delight  was  to  ride  his  pony  “up  the  trail”  was  deprived 
of  that  privilege,  and  now  instead  he  goes  along  with  a train 
load  to  “tail  ’em  up”  when  the  cattle  get  down  in  a stock  car. 

With  the  passing  of  the  trail  came  a better  breed  of  cattle, 
the  long-horn  gave  place  to  the  short  horn  white  face  Here- 
ford, less  vicious  and  unruly.  The  free  range  passed  away, 
wire  fences  came  as  a new  era  set  in,  with  the  encroachment 
of  civilization.  The  Texas  cowmen  formed  an  association 
with  regular  annual  conventions,  where  ways  and  means  for 
the  improvement  and  betterment  of  their  business  were  de- 
vised. These  gatherings  are  a source  of  much  pleasure  to  the 
old  time  stockmen,  and  it  was  at  one  of  these  conventions 
a few  years  ago  that  George  W.  Saunders  suggested  that  an 
auxiliary  association  of  old  time  trail  drivers  be  formed,  to  be 
composed  of  men  who  “went  up  the  trail”  in  those  early  days. 
But  inasmuch  as  such  an  association  would  detract  from  the 


6 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


usual  business  transacted  at  the  meetings  of  the  parent  asso- 
ciation it  was  eventually  decided  to  form  a separate  associa- 
tion with  a different  time  for  its  meetings,  and  thus  the  Old 
Trail  Drivers’  Association  sprang  into  existence,  and  met  with 
popular  favor,  so  much  so  that  within  a year  from  its  organi- 
zation it  had  a membership  of  over  five  hundred. 

The  ranks  of  the  old  trail  drivers  are  becoming  thinner  each 
year,  but  there  still  remain  many  who  knew  the  pleasures  and 
hardships  of  a six  and  eight  months’  trip  to  market  with  from 
fifteen  hundred  to  three  thousand  head  of  cattle.  They  are 
scattered  from  Texas  to  the  Canadian  border  and  from  Cali- 
fornia to  New  York.  Many  are  rated  in  Dun  and  in  Brad- 
street’s  in  the  seven-figure  column,  while  others  are  not  so 
well  off  financially.  The  stories  some  of  these  old  fellows 
could  tell  would  make  your  hair  stand  on  end,  stories  of 
stampedes  and  Indian  raids,  stories  with  dangers  and  pleas- 
ures intermingled  and  of  fortunes  made  and  lost;  they  made 
history  which  the  world  does  not  know  a thing  about. 

To  perpetuate  the  memory  of  these  old  trail  drivers,  who 
blazed  the  trail  to  greater  achievement,  is  the  aim  of  every 
native-born  Texan  who  knows  what  has  been  so  unselfishly 
accomplished.  To  stimulate  it,  and  keep  it  alive  in  the  hearts 
of  our  Texan  youth,  will  inspire  a spirit  of  reverence  and  grati- 
tude to  their  heroic  fathers  for  the  liberty  which  they  have 
given  them — for  the  free  institutions  which  are  the  result  of 
their  daring.  J.  R.  BLOCKER. 


ORGANIZATION  OF  THE  OLD  TIME  TRAIL 
DRIVERS’  ASSOCIATION. 

The  following,  taken  from  the  Secretary’s  record  gives  an 
outline  of  the  first  steps  that  were  taken  toward  organizing 
the  Old  Trail  Drivers’  Association: 

“A  number  of  the  old  time  trail  men  in  San  Antonio  met 
in  the  Chamber  of  Commerce  hall  on  the  afternoon  of  Feb- 
ruary 1 5,  1915,  for  the  purpose  of  organizing  an  association 
to  include  in  its  membership  those  surviving  who  had  shared 
the  dangers,  vicissitudes  and  hardships  of  the  trail. 

“After  a general  discussion  it  was  unanimously  resolved  to 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


/ 


perfect  the  organization  and  prepare  for  the  enrollment. 
George  W.  Saunders  outlined  the  plan  of  formation,  and  the 
following  officers  were  elected:  J.  R.  Blocker,  president; 

George  W.  Saunders,  vice-president;  Luther  A.  Lawhon,  sec- 
retary, and  Colonel  R.  B.  Pumphrey,  treasurer.” 

At  that  time  it  was  suggested  that  the  Association  affiliate 
with  the  Texas  Cattle  Raisers’  Association,  and  hold  joint 
meeting's  with  that  organization.  At  the  Cattle  Raisers’  con- 
vention on  March  9th  and  10th,  191 5,  a great  many  members 
were  added  to  the  new  association,  and  in  March,  1916,  the 
old  Trail  Drivers  had  their  first  round  up  when  the  Cattle 
Raisers’  convention  met  in  Houston.  We  give  below  the  com- 
plete proceedings  of  the  Old  Trail  Drivers’  meeting,  in  which 
is  included  the  report  of  the  secretary,  and  a list  of  the  offi- 
cers and  directors  of  the  association: 

Minutes  of  the  First  Annual  Convention  of  the  Old  Time  Trail 
Drivers’  Association  Held  in  the  City  of  Houston, 
Texas,  March  21,  22,  23,  1916. 

In  accordance  with  the  date  and  place  selected  by  the  Texas 
Cattle  Raisers’  Association,  with  which  the  Old  Time  Trail 
Drivers’  Association  is  affiliated,  these  two  organizations 
convened  in  the  city  of  Houston  on  Tuesday,  March  21st, 
1916,  in  annual  convention. 

Headquarters  for  the  Old  Time  Trail  Drivers’  Association 
was  established  in  the  lobby  of  the  Rice  Hotel,  with  Vice 
President  and  Organizer,  Geo.  W.  Saunders,  Secretary  Lu- 
ther A.  Lawhon  and  C.  D.  Cannon  in  charge.  Badges  and 
buttons,  furnished  by  the  association,  were  distributed  to  the 
members,  of  whom  quite  a large  number  were  in  attendance, 
and  the  books  of  the  association  were  opened  for  the  enroll- 
ment of  new  members. 

At  10  o’clock  A.  M.  Tuesday,  21st,  the  two  organizations — 
the  Texas  Cattle  Raisers’  Association  and  the  Old  Time  Trail 
Drivers’  Association,  met  jointly  in  the  city  auditorium  for 
the  opening  exercises,  which  were  associately  conducted.  The 
Hon.  Joe  Jackson,  President  of  the  Texas  Cattle  Raisers’  As- 
sociation, presiding. 


8 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


After  preliminary  prayer  and  introductory  speeches  by  the 
Hon.  Pat  Garrett,  the  Hon.  Ben  Campbell,  mayor  of  the  city, 
delivered  the  address  of  welcome.  This  was  responded  to 
on  behalf  of  the  Texas  Cattle  Raisers’  Association  by  the  Hon. 
G.  W.  Armstrong,  of  Fort  Worth,  and  on  behalf  of  the  Old 
Time  Trail  Drivers’  Association,  by  Secretary  Luther  A.  Law- 
hon.  The  joint  preliminary  exercises  having  been  concluded, 
the  Old  Time  Trail  Drivers’  Association  recessed  until 
2:30  P.  M. 

Afternoon  Session. 

Promptly  at  2:30,  the  members  of  the  Old  Time  Trail  Driv- 
ers’ Association  assembled  in  the  ball  room  of  the  Auditorium, 
which  had  been  kindly  placed  at  the  disposal  of  the  associa- 
tion by  the  city  of  Houston.  Owing  to  the  absence  of  Presi- 
dent John  R.  Blocker,  who  was  indisposed,  Vice  President  and 
organizer,  Geo.  W.  Saunders,  presided.  In  calling  the  asso- 
ciation to  order,  Vice  President  Saunders  in  a forcible  address, 
reviewed  the  history  of  the  organization,  its  aims  and  its  pur- 
poses, and  dwelt  with  especial  pride  upon  the  cordial  and 
hearty  endorsement  which  had  been  given  the  association  by 
the  “old  Trailers”  throughout  the  country,  as  evidenced  by 
the  many  applications  for  membership  which  the  Secretary 
had  received  during  the  current  year. 

At  the  conclusion  of  Vice  President  Saunders’  address,  Sec- 
retary Luther  A.  Lawhon  presented  the  following  annual  re- 
port, which  was  unanimously  adopted. 

Hon.  John  R.  Blocker  President, 

Old  Time  Trail  Drivers’  Association. 

Sir: 

I have  the  honor  to  herewith  submit  to  you  for  the  bene- 
fit of  the  Old  Time  Trail  Drivers’  Association,  my  annual  re- 
port as  Secretary  of  the  Association.  I congratulate  the  mem- 
bership upon  the  rapid  growth  of  the  Association,  and  for  the 
deep  and  fraternal  interest  which  has  been  unanimously  mani- 
fested for  its  maintenance  and  welfare. 

Assembled  as  we  are  in  our  first  annual  convention,  I trust 
it  will  not  be  deemed  inappropriate  to  refer  briefly  to  the 
origin  of  our  Association — an  organization  which  has  taken 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


9 


such  a stronghold  upon  the  hearts  of  the  old  time  trail  men, 
and  the  motives  and  the  influences  which  called  it  into  being. 

As  is  well  known  to  most  of  the  membership,  the  name  of 
George  W.  Saunders,  our  Vice  President,  is  indissolubly  linked 
with  that  of  the  Old  Time  Trail  Drivers’  Association.  Mr. 
Saunders,  an  old  time  cowboy,  and  one  of  the  first  to  go  up 
the  trail,  had  urged  through  the  press,  as  well  as  orally,  the 
desirability  and  importance  of  an  organization  that  would  in- 
clude and  perpetuate  the  names  of  those  survivors  who  had 
shared  the  dangers  and  the  hardships  of  the  trail — a condition 
and  a society  long  since  passed  away.  The  proposition  awak- 
ened a responsive  chord  in  the  hearts  of  the  old  time  trail 
in  the  San  Antonio  Daily  Express,  a number  of  prominent 
cattlemen  residing  in  San  Antonio,  with  others  of  nearby  coun- 
ties, met  in  the  rooms  of  the  San  Antonio  Chamber  of  Com- 
merce on  the  afternoon  of  February  15,  1915,  and  formally 
organized  the  Old  Time  Trail  Drivers’  Association,  with  the 
election  of  the  following  officers  and  board  of  directors: 

John  R.  Blocker,  President. 

George  W.  Saunders,  Vice  President. 

Luther  A.  Lawhon,  Secretary. 

R.  B.  Pumphrey,  Treasurer. 

J.  M.  Bennett  Sr.,  W.  J.  Moore,  George  W.  West,  J.  H. 
Presnail,  W.  H.  Jennings,  T.  A.  Coleman,  Ike  T.  Pryor,  J.  D. 
Houston,  San  Antonio,  Texas;  D.  H.  Snyder,  Georgetown, 
Texas;  John  Pumphrey,  Taylor,  Texas;  W.  B.  Blocker,  Aus- 
tin, Texas;  P.  B.  Butler,  Kenedy,  Texas;  R.  B.  Masterson, 
Amarillo,  Texas;  J.  B.  Irving,  Alpine,  Texas;  John  Holland, 
Alpine,  Texas;  J.  H.  Paramore,  Abilene,  Texas;  Clabe  Mer- 
chant, Abilene,  Texas;  T.  D.  Wood,  Victoria,  Texas;  George 
W.  Littlefield,  Austin,  Texas;  M.  A.  Withers,  Lockhart,  Texas; 
Chas.  Schreiner,  Kerrville,  Texas;  Jim  Scott,  Alice,  Texas. 

By  resolution  all  those  are  eligible  for  membership  who 
went  up  the  Trail  with  cattle  or  horses  during  the  years  from 
1865  to  1896.  A membership  fee  of  One  Dollar  was  au- 
thorized to  be  assessed. 

The  Cattle  Raisers’  Association  of  Texas,  at  its  annual  con- 
vention held  in  San  Antonio,  March  9th,  10th,  11th,  1 9 1 5, 
generously  extended  its  fraternal  recognition  to  the  Old  Time 


10 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


Trail  Drivers’  Association,  by  passing  a resolution  inviting  the 
latter  to  meet  with  the  former  in  its  annual  convention.  In 
this  connection  I desire  to  return  thanks  to  the  editor,  A.  C. 
Williams  of  The  Cattleman,  the  official  organ  of  the  Cattle 
Raisers’  Association  of  Texas,  and  Assistant  Secretary  of  that 
organization,  for  the  courteous  consideration  which  he  per- 
sistently extended  to  the  Old  Time  Trail  Drivers’  Associa- 
tion. 

In  May,  1915,  your  Secretary  addressed  to  each  member 
of  the  Association,  a letter  signed  by  Vice  President  George 
W.  Saunders,  asking  that  the  parties  addressed  would  write 
their  reminiscences,  incidents  and  adventures  of  the  Trail  for 
the  benefit  of  the  Association.  In  response  to  these  letters, 
the  Secretary  has  received  a number  of  communications, 
which  are  not  only  highly  interesting,  but  are  valuable  con- 
tributions to  the  frontier  history  of  Texas.  It  is  expected  that 
at  this  convention,  the  Association  will  take  such  steps  as  it 
may  deem  proper  to  have  these  chronicles  edited  and  prop- 
erly arranged  for  the  press,  that  they  may  be  ultimately  pub- 
lished in  book  form  for  sale  to  the  general  public,  and  for 
the  benefit  of  the  Association. 

On  February  5th,  1916,  at  a meeting  of  the  Executive 
Committee  composed  of  the  officers  and  Board  of  Directors, 
held  in  San  Antonio,  a resolution  was  passed  making  the  sons 
of  the  old  time  trail  drivers  eligible  for  membership.  This  was 
done  at  the  urgent  solicitation  of  many  of  the  younger  cattle- 
men of  Texas,  whose  fathers  had  been  trail  men,  and  who 
felt  an  interest  in,  and  a desire  to  become  identified  with 
the  organization. 

In  addition  to  appreciating  the  interest  shown  by  the  sons 
of  the  old  time  trail  men,  the  Executive  Committee  recognized 
that  in  a few  years  at  best,  the  old  time  trail  men,  will  have 
passed  away,  and  the  incorporation  of  the  young  cattlemen 
would  be  the  means  of  perpetuating  our  organization.  We 
now  have  a membership  of  3 75,  scattered  through  the  states 
of  Missouri,  Oklahoma,  Arizona,  New  Mexico^  and  Texas. 

The  Executive  Committee,  also  at  this  meeting,  decided  to 
have  a button  manufactured  for  the  members  to  wear  per- 
manently in  the  buttonhole  of  the  lapel  of  their  coats.  Vice 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


11 


President  Saunders  was  authorized  to  select  the  design  and  ar- 
range for  the  manufacture.  In  obedience  to  this,  Mr.  Saunders 
designed  and  has  had  manufactured  a button  which  is  artistic, 
appropriate  and  worthy  to  be  worn  by  the  membership  of  the 
Old  Time  Trail  Drivers’  Association.  He  also  had  badges 
printed  for  distribution  to  the  members  attending  this  con- 
vention. 

I regret  to  have  to  report  that  since  our  last  meeting,  death 
has  taken  from  our  midst  the  following  members: 

J.  H.  Winn,  Pleasanton,  Texas;  Wm.  Choate,  Beeville, 
Texas;  S.  R.  Guthrie,  Alpine,  Texas;  O.  C.  Hildebrand, 
Brownsville,  Texas;  T.  D.  Woods,  Victoria,  Texas.  In  the 
death  of  these  members,  our  Association  has  suffered  a se- 
vere loss,  and  I submit  that  this  convention  pass  appropriate 
resolutions  to  their  memories. 

In  conclusion  I desire  to  return  my  sincere  thanks  to  the 
officers  and  members  of  the  Association  for  their  cordial  co- 
operation in  behalf  of  the  Association,  and  for  the  uniform 
courtesy  and  consideration  which  they  have  extended  to  me. 
For  the  past  twelve  months  I have,  as  Secretary,  served  the 
Association  to  the  best  of  my  ability,  and  I trust  that  the  interest 
of  our  honored  Association  will  continue  to  advance  for  the 
future  as  it  has  in  the  past. 

LUTHER  A.  LAWHON,  Secretary. 

The  Secretary’s  report  having  been  adopted,  the  Association 
went  into  a discussion  of  the  origin,  start,  route  and  terminus 
of  the  “Old  Chisholm  Trail.”  There  was  found  to  be  a con- 
siderable difference  of  opinion  as  to  details  pertaining  to  this 
famous  historic  highway,  and  it  was  finally  decided  to  leave 
the  subject  for  further  discussion  at  the  1917  convention.  The 
Secretary,  in  the  meantime  being  instructed  to  correspond  with 
as  many  of  the  original  trail  men  as  possible,  that  the  origin 
and  route  of  this  famous  trail  might  be  definitely  established 
at  the  succeeding  annual  convention.  To  this  end,  the  Secre- 
tary was  especially  instructed  to  write  to  the  following  “Old 
Trail”  men  for  such  data  and  information  as  they  might  be 
able  to  furnish:  Bud  Dogget,  Fort  Worth,  Texas;  John  Coffee, 
Noxville,  Texas;  Eli  Baggett,  San  Angelo,  Texas. 

Acting  President  Saunders  appointed  a committee  to  draft 


12 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


appropriate  resolutions  on  death  of  deceased  members.  The 
committee  in  due  time  reported,  and  the  resolutions  were 
unanimously  adopted.  On  motion  of  Acting  President  Saun- 
ders, the  Association  unanimously  voted  a monthly  salary  of 
Thirty  Dollars  to  Secretary  Luther  A.  Lawhon  for  the  succeed- 
ing year,  or  for  such  time  as  he  should  continue  to  act  as 
Secretary  for  the  Association. 

After  disposing  of  further  routine  matters  as  claimed  the 
immediate  attention  of  the  convention,  there  was  a general 
interchange  of  old  time  reminiscences,  incidents  and  exper- 
iences. A number  of  ladies  were  in  attendance  on  the  conven- 
tion, who  were  interested  listeners,  and  who  evinced  a deep 
and  patriotic  interest  in  the  proceedings  of  the  Association. 
Having  disposed  of  all  business  to  be  transacted,  the  convention 
adjourned  sine  die. 

LUTHER  A.  LAWHON,  Secretary 

The  second  annual  reunion  of  the  Old  Trail  Drivers’  Associa- 
tion was  held  in  San  Antonio,  Texas,  July  2 and  3,  1917.  It  was 
estimated  that  fully  two  hundred  and  fifty  of  the  old  trail  men 
were  in  attendance.  The  meeting  place  was  in  the  ball  room 
of  the  Gunter  Hotel.  Addresses  of  welcome  were  delivered 
by  Hon.  Dave  Woodward  as  representative  of  Mayor  Sam  C. 
Bell,  by  Hon.  J.  H.  Kirkpatrick,  representing  the  Chamber  of 
Commerce,  Col.  Ike  T.  Pryor,  President  of  the  American  Live 
Stock  Association,  and  Vice  President  George  W.  Saunders  of 
the  Old  Trail  Drivers’  Association,  who  responded  on  behalf 
of  the  Association.  Following  is  Secretary  Lawhon’s  report 
as  adopted  at  this  meeting: 

“Hon.  John  R.  Blocker, 

President  Old  Time  Trail  Drivers’  Association. 

“Sir: — I have  the  honor  to  herewith  submit  to  you,  and 
through  you  to  the  members  of  this  Association,  my  annual 
report  as  Secretary  for  the  years  1916-17. 

“Assembled  as  we  are  in  our  second  annual  reunion,  I am 
proud  to  be  able  to  congratulate  the  Association  upon  its  con- 
tinued growth  in  membership,  and  upon  the  loyalty  and  zealous 
interest  which  has  been  manifested  by  the  membership  at  large. 
This  is  an  incentive  and  an  encouragement  to  further  effort 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


13 


on  our  part,  individually  and  collectively.  Therefore,  judging 
the  future  by  the  past,  I believe  I am  not  indulging  in  an  unwar- 
ranted assumption  when  1 say  the  Old  Time  Trail  Drivers’ 
Association  is  destined  to  take  its  place  as  one  of  the  permanent 
and  popular  associations  of  our  country. 

“Within  a few  days  after  adjournment  of  our  reunion  at 
Houston  last  year,  your  secretary  addressed  a letter  to  each 
of  those  members  who  were  not  in  attendance  on  the  Houston 
reunion,  and  enclosed  a badge  and  the  Association  button  with 
concise  mention  of  the  meeting.  With  this  effort  I am  per- 
suaded that  the  members  at  large  have  received  their  badges 
and  buttons  to  be  worn  in  the  lapels  of  their  coats.  There 
are,  however,  some  exceptions  to  this  assertion.  A few  of  the 
letters  so  addressed  were  returned  to  your  secretary  “un- 
claimed.” I assume  that  the  members  in  question  had  changed 
their  residence  after  enrollment  at  San  Antonio  in  19 1 5,  and 
had  neglected  to  acquaint  me  with  the  change. 

“While  our  Association  is  not  yet  two  years  old,  we  have  in 
the  neighborhood  of  five  hundred  members’  names  upon  the 
Association’s  books,  or  to  be  exact  488  members  are  now 
actively  identified  with  the  Association.  Eight  of  these  are 
sons  of  the  old  time  trail  drivers.  This  list  is  being  rapidly 
augmented  by  new  accessions,  and  our  membership  as  it 
stands  today  shows  the  names  of  members  resident  in  Missouri, 
Oklahoma,  Kansas,  Arizona,  New  Mexico,  Texas,  and  other 
states. 

During  the  past  twelve  months,  so  far  as  your  secretary 
has  been  able  to  ascertain,  the  hand  of  Providence  has  lain 
lightly  upon  the  membership  of  our  Association.  Since  our 
last  meeting  death  has  claimed  but  two  of  our  members,  Jesse 
Presnail  and  M.  Standifer,  both  of  San  Antonio.  The  former 
was  well  and  favorably  known  throughout  the  state  as  one  of 
the  old  time  cowmen,  while  the  latter,  though  not  actively 
engaged  in  the  livestock  industry,  was  one  of  the  “old  trailers,” 
and  took  a deep  interest  in  the  organization.  In  the  death  of 
these  two  members  our  Association  has  suffered  a grevious 
loss.” 

After  the  reading  of  the  secretary’s  report  a general  discus- 
sion of  the  origin  and  terminus  of  the  Old  Chisholm  Trail 


14 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


was  indulged  in.  A letter  on  this  subject,  written  by  W.  P. 
Anderson,  was  read  in  which  the  writer  gave  many  facts  con- 
cerning the  origin  and  route  of  this  famous  highway,  stating 
that  this  trail  was  named  for  a half-breed,  John  Chisholm, 
who  ranched  in  the  Indian  Territory,  and  who  in  the  early 
sixties  had  driven  a herd  of  cattle  through  the  Indian  Terri- 
tory to  the  government  forts  on  the  Arkansas  River,  and 
that  subsequently  when  the  great  drives  from  Texas  commenced 
these  herds  would  intersect  and  follow  for  a considerable  dis- 
tance this  Chisholm  Trail  in  the  Indian  Territory,  and  for 
this  reason  the  entire  trail  from  the  Texas  line  to  Kansas 
became  familiarly  known  as  “The  Chisholm  Trail.”  This 
version  of  Mr.  Anderson’s  was  unanimously  adopted  by  the 
Association  as  being  authoritative  and  authentic.  Following 
is  Mr.  Anderson’s  letter  to  Secretary  Lawhon: 

Mr.  Luther  A.  Lawhon,  Sec., 

Old  Time  Trail  Drivers’  Association, 

San  Antonio,  Texas. 

Dear  Sir: — Your  letter  of  April  1 3th  came  to  hand  after 
following  me  through  the  Cattle  Convention  to  the  North- 
west and  was  finally  received  at  El  Paso,  Texas,  last  week 
on  my  way  here  to  San  Antonio. 

In  reference  to  the  Old  Chisholm  Trail  I notice  that  you 
spell  the  name  “Chism”.  Another  version  is  “Chissum”  but 
probably  the  correct  one  is  “Chisholm”.  As  I understand  the 
history  of  these  trails,  the  original  Chisholm  Trail  was  named 
after  John  Chisholm  who  was  a Cherokee  cattle  trader,  who 
supplied  the  government  frontier  posts  with  their  cattle  supply 
in  the  early  part  of  the  occupation  of  frontier  posts  and  during 
the  Civil  War. 

Among  the  first  herds  that  started  north  from  Texas  was 
that  of  Smith  and  Elliot,  and  their  guide  was  a gentleman 
who  was  formerly  a soldier  with  Robert  E.  Lee  who  had  to  do 
with  the  civilized  tribes  of  the  Indian  Territory  and  used  the 
old  military  trails,  which  were  suppposed  to  run  from  Texas 
to  Sedalia,  Mo.,  and  crossed  the  Red  River  at  Colbert’s  Ferry, 
and  who  afterwards  was  a citizen  of  San  Antonio  and  whose 
children  reside  here  now.  The  name  1 do  not  recall  at  present. 

The  first  diversion  from  this  trail  was  where  the  trail  left 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


15 


the  Sedalia  trail  for  Baxter  Springs.  It  was  originally  used 
by  this  same  John  Chisholm,  the  Cherokee  Indian  cattle  trader, 
to  supply  Ft.  Scott,  Kans.  The  basic  ground  for  the  commence- 
ment of  this  trail  was  probably  about  the  mouth  of  the  Grand 
River  where  it  emptied  into  the  Arkansas.  The  most  prominent 
branch  of  this  trail  runs  directly  up  the  Arkansas  River  as  far 
as  Ft.  Zarah,  which  was  about  a mile  east  of  where  Great 
Bend,  Kan.,  now  stands.  From  along  this  trail  there  were  diver- 
sions made  by  these  cattle  that  went  into  the  army  supply 
at  Fort  Riley,  Fort  Harker,  near  Ellsworth,  Fort  Hays,  near 
Hays  City,  Fort  Wallace,  now  Wallace,  Kans.,  the  main  base 
being  in  the  Arkansas  bottom  on  what  is  now  called  Chisholm 
Creek  near  the  present  city  of  Wichita,  the  trail  continuing 
on  west  as  far  as  Fort  Bend  and  Fort  Lyon  in  Colorado, for 
the  delivery  of  these  cattle,  hence  all  cattle  trailed  from  Texas 
across  the  Arkansas  River  would,  perforce,  strike  at  some 
point  the  old  Chisholm  Trail,  and  hence  practically  all  cattle, 
whether  by  Colbert’s  Ferry,  Red  River  Crossing  or  Doan’s 
Store  or  elsewhere  intermediate,  would  naturally  use  some 
part  of  the  original  Cherokee  Indian  Chisholm  Trail  on  some 
part  of  its  journey  to  Western  Kansas. 

In  about  the  late  60’s  or  early  70’s,  Mr.  Charles  Goodnight 
went  the  western  route  up  the  Pecos  into  the  Colorado  country, 
establishing  what  was  known  as  the  Goodnight  or  the  Good- 
night & Loving  Trail,  afterwards  trailing  the  “Jingle  Bobs”  or 
the  John  Chissum  cattle  north  laying  the  old  Tascosa  route 
out  to  Dodge  City,  Kans.,  which  became  famous  as  the  Chis- 
sum trail  and  naturally  produced  the  confusion  as  to  the  ident- 
ity of  the  original  Chisholm  cattle  trail.  Nominally  every  man 
that  came  up  the  trail  felt  as  though  he  had  traversed  the 
old  Chisholm  trail.  The  facts  hardly  establish  the  original 
of  either  the  New  Mexican  John  Chissum  trail  or  the  John 
Chisholm  Cherokee  trail  or  trails  leading  to  western  frontier 
army  posts  as  originating  in  Texas. 

In  reference  to  Mr.  Goodnight’s  allusion  to  my  “blazing” 
the  trail  for  the  Joe  McCoy  herd,  my  recollection  of  the  first 
herd  that  came  to  Abilene,  Kans.,  was  that  of  J.  J.  Meyers, 
one  of  the  trail  drivers  of  that  herd  now  living  at  Panhandle, 
Texas.  A Mr.  Gibbs,  I think,  will  ascertain  further  on  the 


16 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


subject.  The  first  cattle  shipped  out  of  Abilene,  that  I recol- 
lect, was  by  C.  C.  Slaughter  of  Dallas,  and  while  loaded  at 
Abilene,  Kans.,  the  billing  was  made  from  memorandum  slips 
at  Junction  City,  Kans. 

The  original  chapters  of  Joe  McCoy’s  book  were  published 
in  a paper  called  “The  Cattle  Trail”,  edited  by  H.  M.  Dixon 
whose  address  is  now  the  Auditorium  building,  Chicago.  It 
was  my  connection  with  this  publication  that  has  probably 
led  Mr.  Goodnight  into  the  belief  that  I helped  blaze  the 
trail  with  McCoy’s  cattle  herd.  This  was  the  first  paper  I 
know  of  that  published  maps  of  the  trails  from  different  cattle 
shipping  points  in  Kansas  to  the  intersection  of  the  original 
Chisholm  trail,  one  from  Coffeyville,  Kans.,  the  first,  however, 
from  Baxter  Springs,  then  from  Abilene,  Newton,  then  Wichita 
and  Great  Bend,  Dodge  City  becoming  so  famous  obviated 
the  necessity  for  further  attention  in  this  direction. 

There  are  many  interesting  incidents  that  could  still  be 
made  a matter  of  record  connected  with  the  old  cattle  trails 
that  I could  enumerate,  but  1 will  reserve  them  for  another 
time.  Yours  truly, 

W.  P.  ANDERSON 

Then  followed  the  election  of  officers  for  the  ensuing  year. 
George  W.  Saunders  was  elected  President;  J.  B.  Murrah, 
Vice-President;  Luther  A.  Lawhon,  Secretary,  and  R.  B.  Pum- 
phrey  treasurer.  On  motion  of  Mr.  Murrah  the  following 
resolution  was  unanimously  adopted: 

“Resolved  that  in  his  voluntary  retirement  from  the  presi- 
dency of  the  Old  Time  Trail  Drivers’  Association,  we  extend 
to  Hon.  John  R.  Blocker  our  sincere  appreciation  of  the  able 
and  patriotic  manner  in  which  he  has  presided  over  the  des- 
tinies of  the  Old  Time  Trail  Drivers’  Associaton,  and  we  extend 
to  him  our  sincere  wishes  for  his  future  health  and  happiness.” 

Vacancies  in  the  Board  of  Directors  occasioned  by  death 
were  filled  by  the  election  of  John  Doak  of  Del  Rio,  J.  M. 
Dobie  of  Cotulla,  Texas,  and  W.  S.  Hall  of  Comfort,  Texas. 

The  wives  and  daughters  of  members  of  the  Association 
were  made  eligible  for  membership. 

It  was  resolved  that  all  communications  intended  for  the 
proposed  book  of  trail  and  frontier  reminiscences  must  be 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


17 


received  by  the  Secretary  of  the  Association  on  or  before 
January,  1918. 

San  Antonio  was  selected  as  the  place  for  the  next  reunion. 
The  convention  adjourned,  after  passing  a number  of  resolu- 
tions which  are  of  but  little  concern  to  the  readers  of  this  book. 

During  this  convention  the  members  of  the  Association 
with  their  wives,  daughters  and  friends,  were  given  an  auto- 
mobile ride  through  the  city  and  out  to  the  Saunders  ranch 
on  the  Medina  River,  where  an  old  fashioned  barbecue  which 
had  been  prepared  by  George  W.  Saunders  and  T.  A.  Coleman 
was  tendered  the  visitors. 

Owing  to  the  World  War,  which  was  in  progress  at  the 
time  scheduled  for  the  meeting  in  1918,  no  reunion  was  held 
that  year,  and  the  funds  which  had  been  appropriated  for  the 
reunion  were  used  in  the  purchase  of  $500  worth  of  Liberty 
Bonds.  But  on  September  10th  and  11th,  1919,  the  Associa- 
tion again  met  in  San  Antonio,  and  following  is  the  report  of 
the  proceedings  of  that  meeting,  as  furnished  by  the  secretary: 

Minutes  of  the  Annual  Reunion  of  the  Old  Time  Trail 
Drivers’  Association,  Held  in  San  Antonio,  Texas, 
September  10th  and  11th,  1919. 

After  a recess  of  two  years  on  account  of  the  world  war,  the 
members  of  the  Old  Time  Trail  Drivers’  Association  met  in 
annual  reunion  September  10th,  1919,  in  the  ball  room  of  the 
Gunter  Hotel,  in  the  city  of  San  Antonio.  The  meeting  had 
previously  been  called  by  the  board  of  directors  for  September 
10th  and  llth.  Promptly  at  10  o’clock  a.m.,  President  Geo. 
W.  Saunders  rapped  for  order,  and  declared  the  annual  reunion 
of  the  Old  Time  Trail  Drivers’  Association  to  be  in  session. 
Chaplain  J.  Stewart  Pierce,  who  was  elected  chaplain  of  the 
Association  at  a former  reunion,  and  who  is  also  Chaplain  of 
the  1 5th  Field  Artillery,  U.  S.  A.,  delivered  an  impressive 
invocation;  after  which  Luther  A.  Lawhon,  Secretary  of  the 
Association,  as  the  representative  of  Mayor  Bell,  delivered  the 
address  of  welcome.  Secretary  Lawhon  was  followed  by  Judge 
S.  H.  Wood  of  Alice,  Texas,  who  in  an  eloquent  address,  which 
was  frequently  applauded,  responded  in  behalf  of  the  member- 


18 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


ship  of  the  Association.  Addresses  were  also  made  by  J.  D. 
Jackson  of  Alpine,  Texas,  ex-  President  of  the  Texas  Cattle 
Raisers  Association,  and  by  Nat.  M.  Washer,  prominent  mer- 
chant and  citizen  of  San  Antonio.  Mr.  Washer’s  eloquent 
and  patriotic  sentiments  were  frequently  loudly  cheered.  In 
the  interval  between  the  addresses  the  orchestra  played  popular 
and  patriotic  songs.  After  the  morning’s  program  had  been 
concluded,  the  reunion  took  a recess  until  two  o’clock  p.m. 

On  re-assembling,  the  afternoon’s  session  was  devoted  to  a 
general  discussion  of  business  matters  affecting  the  interests 
of  the  Association,  and  the  passage  of  resolutions.  President 
Saunders  appointed  J.  D.  Jackson,  J.  B.  Murrah  and  Luther  A. 
Lawhon  a committee  to  draft  suitable  resolutions  on  the  death 
of  deceased  members.  The  committee  reported  as  follows: 

“Whereas,  it  has  pleased  Divine  Providence  to  remove  by 
death  from  our  midst  the  following  members  of  the  Old  Time 
Trail  Drivers’  Association:  E.  E.  Rutledge,  John  Hoffman, 
Maxey  Burris,  John  H.  Meads,  W.  J.  Moore,  Joe  Farris,  Walter 
J.  Dunkin,  B.  M.  Hall  and  E.  R.  Jensen,  all  of  San  Antonio; 
W.  B.  Houston  of  Gonzales,  J.  A .Martin  of  Kenedy,  John  B. 
Pumphrey  of  Taylor,  Tom  Perry  of  Bracketville,  J.  H.  Jaro- 
man  of  Abilene,  S.  R.  Guthrie  of  Alpine,  W.  M.  Choate  of 
Beeville,  J.  H.  Winn  of  Pleasanton,  T.  D.  Wood  of  Victoria, 
J.  A.  Kercheville  of  Devine, Henry  Rothe  of  Hondo,  W.  T. 
Mulholland  of  Jourdanton,  C.  C.  Hildebrand  of  Brownsville, 
W.  D.  Crawford  of  Dilley,  R.  D.  Peril  of  Jewitt,  Hart  Mussey 
of  Alice,  A.  H.  Allen  of  Eagle  Pass  and  Ed  Dewees,  Wilson 
county. 

“Therefore,  be  it  resolved,  that  we  deplore  the  loss  of  these 
old  pioneers.  We  feel  that  their  families  have  suffered  an 
irreparable  loss  and  we  extend  to  them  our  heartfelt  sympathies 
and  we  further  recognize  that  in  the  death  of  these  members 
the  state  has  lost  some  of  its  worthy  citizens  and  this  Associa- 
tion some  of  its  most  active,  zealous  and  worthy  members.” 

At  the  close  of  the  afternoon  session  of  the  first  day’s 
meeting,  it  was  announced  that  there  was  free  admission  for 
every  member  of  the  Association,  for  the  evening  performance 
at  the  Princess  Theatre.  On  motion  of  President  Saunders, 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS  19 

the  members  of  the  Albert  Sidney  Johnson  camp  of  Confeder- 
ate Veterans,  were  made  honorary  members  of  the  Association. 

The  morning  session  of  the  second  day  of  the  reunion  (Sept, 
l lth)  was  devoted  to  a general  discussion  or  old  time  “pow 
wow”,  as  some  of  the  boys  termed  it.  These  interesting  pro- 
ceedings continued  until  eleven  o’clock,  when  the  members 
entered  automobiles,  and  were  driven  to  the  Saunders  ranch, 
some  twelve  miles  from  the  city,  where  upon  the  banks  of  the 
beautiful  Medina  River  an  old  time  barbecue  had  been  pre- 
pared for  the  “old  trailers”  and  their  friends.  After  partaking 
of  the  bountiful  repast,  speech  making  was  indulged  in,  and 
old  time  reminiscences  were  recounted,  after  which  the  mem- 
bers and  friends  returned  to  the  city  for  the  closing  session  of 
the  reunion. 

On  reassembling  in  the  ball  room  of  the  Gunter  Hotel,  the 
election  of  officers  was  the  first  to  be  considered.  This  resulted 
in  the  re-election  of  the  following  officers:  Geo.  W.  Saunders, 
President;  J.  B.  Murrah,  Vice-President;  R.  F.  Jennings,  Sec- 
retary, and  R.  B.  Pumphrey,  Treasurer.  Rev.  J.  Stewart  Pierce 
was  unanimously  re-elected  Chaplain.  On  motion  of  J.  D. 
Jackson  the  annual  dues  which  had  been  put  at  one  dollar, 
were  raised  to  two  dollars  in  accordance  with  the  expressed 
wish  of  the  Association  that  the  Secretary  should  be  paid  a 
salary  of  Thirty  Dollars  per  month — a part  of  which  sum  was 
to  be  expended  by  the  Secretary  for  postage,  .stationery,  etc. 
The  following  resolutions  were  unanimously  adopted  before 
final  adjournment: 

“Resolved,  by  the  Old  Time  Trail  Drivers’  Association,  that 
we,  each  and  every  one,  appreciate  the  warm  hospitality  which 
has  been  accorded  by  the  City  of  San  Antonio  and  we  look 
forward  with  pleasure  to  our  visit  here  next  year. 

“Resolved,  that  the  thanks  of  the  Old  Time  Trail  Drivers’ 
Association  are  hereby  extended  to  Percy  Tyrrell,  manager  of 
the  Gunter  Hotel,  for  the  many  courtesies  which  he  has  ex- 
tended to  this  Association  during  this  reunion. 

“ M.  W.  S.  Parker,  J.  D.  Jackson,  J.  B.  Murrah,  M.  A. 
Withers,  committee.” 

At  the  close  of  the  afternoon  session  of  the  second  day  (Sept, 
llth)  the  annual  reunion  of  the  Old  Time  Trail  Drivers’ 


20 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


Association,  was  declared  at  an  end.  This  concluded  two  days 
of  solid  enjoyment,  in  which  some  three  hundred  “old  trailers,” 
many  of  them  with  their  wives  and  daughters,  took  part. 
These  old  pioneers  had  gathered  from  all  sections  of  Texas, 
and  neighboring  states,  to  renew  old  friendships,  and  recount 
the  incidents  of  frontier  life,  and  dwell  once  more  upon  the 
hardships  and  adventures  of  the  old  trail  days.  ' 


ORIGIN  AND  CLOSE  OF  THE  OLD  TIME 
NORTHERN  TRAIL 

Compiled  by  George  W.  Saunders  and  Read  at  the  Reunion 
of  the  Old  Time  Trail  Drivers’  Association 

The  following,  prepared  by  President  George  W.  Saunders, 
was  read  at  the  1917  reunion  of  the  Old  Time  Trail  Drivers’ 
Association.  Embodied  in  the  article  are  statistics,  regarding 
cattle  movements  in  early  days,  which  are  graphically  por- 
trayed by  Mr.  Saunders,  and  worthy  of  preservation: 

Very  few  people  realize  at  this  late  date,  the  important 
part  played  by  the  old  time  trail  drivers  towards  civilization 
and  development  of  the  great  State  of  Texas.  At  the  close  of 
the  Civil  War  the  soldiers  came  home  broke  and  our  state 
was  in  a deplorable  condition.  The  old  men,  small  boys  and 
negroes  had  taken  care  of  the  stock  on  the  ranges  and  the 
state  was  overstocked,  but  there  was  no  market  for  their  stock. 
In  1867  and  1868  some  of  our  most  venturesome  stockmen 
took  a few  small  herds  of  cattle  to  New  Orleans,  Baxter 
Springs,  Abilene,  Kansas,  and  other  markets.  The  northern 
drives  proved  fairly  successful,  though  they  experienced  many 
hardships  and  dangers  going  through  an  uncivilized  and  partly 
unexplored  country.  The  news  of  their  success  spread  like 
wild  fire  and  the  same  men  and  many  others  tackled  the  trail 
in  1869.  At  that  time  it  was  not  a question  of  making  money; 
it  was  a question  of  finding  a market  for  their  surplus  stock 
at  any  price.  There  was  very  little  money  in  the  country,  and 
no  banks  or  trust  companies  to  finance  the  drivers.  In  this 
great  undertaking  some  of  them  drove  their  own  stock  and 
others  buying  on  credit  to  pay  on  their  return,  giving  no 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


21 


other  security  than  a list  of  brands  and  amounts  due.  The 
1869  drives  proved  successful,  which  caused  many  other  stock- 
men  to  join  the  trail  drivers  in  1870.  By  this  time  going  up 
the  trail  was  all  a rage.  1870  was  a banner  year  at  all  the 
markets.  The  drivers  came  home  and  began  preparing  for 
the  1871  drives.  Excitement  ran  high;  there  was  never  such 
activity  in  the  stock  business  before  in  Texas.  Drivers  were 
scouring  the  country,  contracting  for  cattle  for  the  next  spring 
delivery,  buying  horses  and  employing  cowboys  and  foremen. 
Many  large  companies  were  formed  to  facilitate  the  handling 
of  the  fast  growing  business.  Capital  had  been  attracted  from 
the  money  centers  and  financial  arrangements  to  pay  for  the 
stock  as  received  in  the  spring,  were  made.  Thus  opened  the 
spring  of  1871,  also  all  the  drivers  increasing  the  number  of 
herds  previously  driven  and  many  companies  and  individuals 
driving  ten  to  fifteen  herds  each.  Imagine  all  the  ranchmen 
in  south,  east  and  middle  Texas  at  work  at  the  first  sign  of 
spring,  gathering  and  delivering  trail  herds. 

This  work  generally  lasted  from  April  1st  to  May  15  th., 
The  drivers  would  receive,  road-brand  and  deliver  a herd  to 
their  foremen,  supply  them  with  cash  or  letters  of  credit, 
give  the  foremen  and  hands  instructions  and  say  “Adios  boys, 

I will  see  you  in  Abilene,  Dodge,  Ellsworth,  Ogallala,  Chey- 
enne,” or  whatever  point  was  the  destination  of  the  herd.  Then 
riding  day  and  night  to  the  next  receiving  point,  going  through 
the  same  performance,  then  on  to  the  next  until  all  herds  were 
started  up  the  trail.  Some  of  the  drivers  would  go  on  the 
trail,  others  would  go  by  rail,  or  boat  to  the  markets,  lobby 
around  waiting  for  their  herds,  sometimes  going  down  the 
trail  several  hundred  miles  to  meet  their  herds,  often  bringing 
buyers  with  them.  I made  my  first  trip  up  the  trail  in  1871 
for  Choate  & Bennett.  John  Bennett,  Sr.,  was  a member  of 
the  firm.  They  sent  fourteen  herds  up  the  trail  that  year. 
Dunk  Choate,  now  deceased,  counted  and  delivered  this  herd 
to  Jim  Byler,  our  boss,  on  the  Cibolo  near  Stockdale,  Wilson 
county,  pointed  our  herd  north  and  left,  saying,  “You  boys 
know  the  rest,  I must  leave  you  and  receive  other  herds.” 

The  first  few  years  there  was  no  market  for  cow  ponies  at 
the  cattle  markets.  In  1871  we  brought  back  over  the  trail 


22 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


150  cow  ponies  and  several  chuck  wagons  from  Abilene,  Kan- 
sas, belonging  to  Choate  & Bennett  and  W.  G.  Butler;  but 
later,  after  ranches  were  established  throughout  the  northwest 
those  ranchmen  learned  that  our  Spanish  ponies  were  better 
for  their  range  work  than  their  native  horses  and  after  that 
cow  ponies  were  ready  sale  and  the  cowboys  came  home  by 
rail  or  boat.  Later  there  was  a demand  for  Texas  brood  mares. 
This  proved  a bonanza  for  Texas  ranchmen  as  our  ranges 
were  overstocked  with  them  and  they  were  almost  worthless. 

I drove  1,000  in  two  herds  to  Dodge  City  in  1884.  It  was 
claimed  that  100,000  went  up  the  trail  that  year  and  more 
than  1,000,000  went  up  the  trail  from  the  time  the  horse 
market  opened  until  the  trail  closed. 

1871  was  not  a successful  year  but  it  did  not  prevent  a 
grand  rush  for  the  1872  drive.  Some  of  the  drivers  had  made 
government  contracts  to  supply  Indian  agencies,  some  had 
contracts  with  western  ranchmen  for  stock  cattle  and  young 
steers;  others  driving  on  the  open  market.  1872  proved  a 
successful  year  which  caused  a great  rush  for  the  1873  drive. 
Those  that  sold  early,  had  contracts  or  got  tips  from  the  money 
centers  did  fairly  well,  but  a panic  clogged  the  wheels  of 
commerce,  which  broke  lots  of  drivers  and  crippled  many 
others.  Some  sold  at  heavy  losses,  some  wintered  herds, 
thinking  a steer  in  good  condition  could  live  where  a buffalo 
could;  a cold  winter  and  a sleet  covered  range  caused  many 
losses.  The  1874  drive  was  lighter  and  profitable  which  caused 
a larger  drive  in  1875.  The  losers  in  1873  patched  up  the 
weak  places  and  were  on  the  trail  again;  such  men  would  not 
stay  broke,  By  this  time  the  drivers  had  become  acquainted 
with  the  western  ranchmen.  Large  companies  were  formed  and 
many  large  ranches  were  established  in  the  Indian  Territory 
and  the  northwestern  ranges.  The  drives  continued,  but  they 
did  not  always  have  smooth  sailing.  The  markets  fluctuated, 
some  had  heavy  losses  from  losing  stock  on  the  trail  on 
account  of  drouths,  late  spring,  cold  weather  and  many  other 
causes.  During  all  these  years  the  Texas  ranchmen  were  not 
idle.  With  the  proceeds  of  cattle  sold  to  trail  men  they  were 
able  to  improve  their  stock,  establish  new  ranches,  all  the 
time  pushing  west  and  forcing  the  savages  before  them.  At  the 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


23 


close  of  the  war  all  the  country  west  of  an  air  line  from 
Eagle  Pass  to  Gainesville  was  uncivilized  and  sparsely  settled. 
Every  ranch  or  village  above  this  line  was  subject  to  an 
Indian  raid  every  moon.  The  government  had  a string  of 
posts  across  the  state  above  this  line,  but  the  Indians  made 
many  raids  between  these  posts,  murdered  men,  women  and 
children,  stole  stock  and  made  their  escape  without  seeing 
a soldier.  The  soldiers  did  their  best  but  the  cunning  savages 
generally  outwitted  them.  The  trailers  and  ranchmen  were 
the  most  dreaded  enemies  of  the  Indians  and  Texas  rangers 
next,  most  of  them  being  cowboys.  The  savages  were  forced 
back  slowly  but  surely  by  the  trailer  and  ranchmen  and  were 
finally  forced  into  the  mountains  of  New  Mexico,  Old  Mexico 
and  Arizona,  their  number  being  reduced  to  a small  band  led 
by  the  notorious  Geronimo,  chief  of  the  Apaches,  which  was 
captured  by  the  government  troops  in  1885.  This  ended 
Indian  depredations  in  Texas.  The  co-operation  of  the  trailers, 
ranchmen  and  rangers  with  the  government  troops  accom- 
plished this  great  feat,  but  the  most  credit  belongs  to  the  old 
time  trail  driver,  the  starter  and  finisher  of  the  destiny  of 
this  great  state  and  the  men  that  blazed  the  way  that  led  to 
many  great  commercial  enterprises,  besides  stocking  and 
causing  to  be  stocked  the  ranges  from  the  Rio  Grande  to 
British  possessions  that  before  that  time  was  a desert  (not 
bringing  a cent  of  revenue  to  the  state’s  treasury)  inhabited 
by  wild  animals  and  savages.  From  1885  the  drives  were 
lighter  up  to  1895,  when  the  trail  which  had  been  used  twen- 
ty-seven years  was  closed.  Nothing  like  it  and  its  far-reach- 
ing accomplishment  ever  happened  before  and  will  never  hap- 
pen again.  It  is  estimated  by  the  most  conservative  old  time 
trail  drivers  that  an  average  of  350,000  cattle  were  driven  up 
the  trails  from  Texas  each  year  for  twenty-eight  years,  mak- 
ing 9,800,000  cattle  at  ten  dollars  a head  received  by  the 
ranchmen  at  home,  making  $98,000,000;  1,000,000  horse 
stock  at  $10  per  head  received  by  the  ranchmen  at  home, 
making  $10,000,000;  or  a total  of  $1,008,000,000.  This 
vast  amount  sounds  like  a European  war  loan,  but  it  was  not. 
It  was  all  caused  by  a few  fearless  men  making  the  start  in 
1867  or  1868.  No  one  had  any  idea  that  the  cattle,  the  staple 


24 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


product,  would  blossom  out  thus  and  bring  such  prosperity 
to  our  state  and  heap  so  much  glory  on  the  heads  of  the  old 
time  trail  men.  The  circulation  of  the  billions  of  dollars  pro- 
duced by  the  industry,  passing  as  it  did,  directly  into  channels 
that  were  opened  to  receive  it,  produced  the  prosperity  that 
has  been  in  evidence  in  Texas  for  so  many  years,  the  cowman, 
the  merchant,  the  farmer,  the  day  laborer  profited  thereby, 
and  the  vast  volume  of  gold  that  flowed  through  these  chan- 
nels is  absolutely  incomprehensible. 

Had  these  old  time  trail  drivers  not  looked  for  and  found 
this  market  our  vast  herds  would  have  died  on  the  ranges  and 
the  vast  unstocked  ranges  would  have  lain  dormant  and  un- 
productive. Our  ranchmen  would  have  left  Texas  disgusted 
and  broke  and  it  would  have  been  a difficult  matter  to  re- 
inhabit our  state;  therefore  development  would  have  been 
checked  for  many  years;  possibly  no  iron  horse  would  have 
reached  the  Rio  Grande  up  to  this  time  as  the  inducement 
would  not  have  been  attractive.  No  one  knows  what  would 
have  happened  had  the  Northern  trail  never  existed,  but  it  is 
plain  that  all  commercial  achievements,  civilization,  good  gov- 
ernment, Christianity,  morality,  our  school  system,  the  use 
of  all  school  and  state  lands  making  them  revenue  bearers,  the 
expansion  of  the  stock  business  from  the  Rio  Grande  to  the 
British  possessions,  which  is  producing  millions  of  dollars;  the 
building  of  railroads,  factories,  seaports,  agricultural  advance- 
ment and  everything  else  pertaining  to  prosperity  can  be  traced 
directly  to  the  achievements  of  the  old  time  trail  drivers.  The 
many  good  things  accomplished  by  the  untiring  efforts  of 
these  old  heroes  can  never  be  realized  or  told  just  as  they  were 
enacted  and  it  would  be  the  father  of  all  mistakes  to  let  their 
daring  and  valuable  efforts  be  forgotten  and  pass  to  unwrit- 
ten history.  Our  Association  now  has  500  members  and  by 
resolution  we  made  the  sons  of  the  old  time  trail  drivers 
eligible  to  membership.  There  are  many  old  timers  that  have 
not  joined,  but  1 believe  every  one  will  when  the  importance 
of  perpetuating  the  memory  of  the  old  timers  is  fully  under- 
stood by  them.  It  is  our  purpose  to  write  a history  dealing 
strictly  with  trail  and  ranch  life  and  the  early  cattle  industry. 
This  book  will  consist  of  letters  written  by  trail  drivers  only, 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


25 


giving  the  minutest  details  of  their  experiences  of  bygone 
days  at  home  and  on  the  trail  and  will  contain  facts  and  be 
full  of  thrills.  Such  a book  has  never  been  written;  all  the 
books  published  on  this  subject  have  been  by  some  author 
who  spent  a few  months  on  some  ranch,  then  attempted  to 
write  a book,  understanding  very  little  about  stock  or  the  stock 
business  and  consequently  having  them  pulling  off  stunts  that 
have  never  been  pulled  off  anywhere  else  but  in  the  fertile 
imagination  of  some  fiction  writer.  We  are  now  assessing  the 
old  members  $5.00  each  and  are  charging  $5.00  each  for  en- 
rollment of  new  members,  this  fund  will  be  used  for  compil- 
ing and  printing  our  history  and  paying  the  necessary  expenses 
of  the  Association.  Each  member  will  get  a book  free.  If 
there  is  any  money  left  it  will  stay  in  the  treasury  to  be  used 
with  the  proceeds  of  the  sale  of  our  history  as  directed  by  the 
directors  or  by  the  Association  as  a whole.  I am  in  favor  of 
building  a monument  somewhere  on  the  old  trial,  between  San 
Antonio  and  Fort  Worth,  to  the  Old  Time  Trail  Drivers. 


LOCATION  OF  THE  OLD  CHISHOLM  TRAIL. 

By  C.  H.  Rust,  of  San  Angelo,  Texas. 

1 will  state  that  from  my  own  knowledge,  and  from  short 
stories  by  thirty-five  old  early  day  trail  men,  most  of  whom 
went  up  the  old  Chisholm  Trail,  indicating  the  Trail  by  naming 
rivers  and  towns,  showing  same  on  maps,  so,  with  the  long 
drawn  out  investigation,  and  with  all  of  this  information  from 
different  sources,  1 believe  the  old  Chisholm  Cow  Trail  started 
at  San_Ajrtoniq^.Texas,  and  ended  at  Abilene,  Kansas.  Forty- 
five  years  have  passed  since  1 went  over  lHe~Trail,  and  1 am 
using  my  memory  to  aid  me,  especially  on  the  Texas  end  of  the 
Old  Cow  Trail. 

This  old  Trail  that  I attempt  to  tell  you  about,  begins  at 
San  Antonio,  and  from  there  leading  on  to  New  Braunfels, 
thence  to  San  Marcos,  crossing  the  San  Marcos  River  four  miles 
below  town,  thence  to  Austin,  crossing  the  Colorado  River 
three  miles  below  Austin.  Leaving  Austin  the  Trail  winds  its 
way  on  to  the  right  of  Round  Rock,  thence  to  right  of  George- 


26 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


town,  on  to  right  of  Salado,  to  the  right  of  Belton,  to  old  Fort 
Graham,  crossing  the  Brazos  River  to  the  left  of  Cleburne, 
then  to  Fort  Worth,  winding  its  way  to  the  right  of  Fort  Worth 
just  about  where  Hell’s  Half  Acre  used  to  be,  crossing  Trinity 
River  just  below  town.  Fort  Worth  was  just  a little  burg  on 
the  bluff  where  the  panther  lay  down  and  died. 

From  Fort  Worth  the  next  town  was  Elizabeth,  and  from 
there  to  Bolivar;  here  the  old  Trail  forked  but  we  kept  the 
main  trail  up  Elm  to  St.  Joe  on  to  Red  River  Station,  here 
crossing  Red  River;  after  crossing  Red  River  1 strike  the  line 
of  Nation  Beaver  Creek,  thence  to  Monument  Rocks  leading 
on  to  Stage  Station,  to  head  of  Rush  Creek,  then  to  Little 
Washita,  on  to  Washita  Crossing  at  Line  Creek,  from  there  to 
Canadian  River,  to  the  North  Fork,  on  to  Prairie  Spring,  from 
there  to  King  Fisher  Creek;  thence  to  Red  Fork,  on  to  Tur- 
key Creek,  to  Hackberry  Creek;  thence  to  Shawnee  Creek,  to 
Salt  Fork;  to  Pond  Creek,  from  there  to  Pole  Cat  Creek,  to 
Bluff  Creek;  thence  to  Caldwell,  line  of  Kansas  River  on  to 
Slate  Creek  to  Ne-ne-squaw  River;  thence  to  Cow  Skin  Creek 
to  Arkansas  River  to  head  of  Sand  Creek;  on  to  Brookville; 
thence  from  Solomon  to.  Abilene,  and  from  there  on  to  Ells- 
worth. 

I have  no  definite  information  as  to  what  year  this  old  Trail 
was  laid  out,  and  if  this  is  not  the  Old  Chisholm  Cow  Trail, 
then  there  is  no  Chisholm  Trail.  It  is  just  what  we  call  the  Old 
Chisholm  Trail,  and  when  the  cow-boy  reached  his  destination, 
weary  and  worn,  he  forgot  all  about  the  rainy  nights  he  -ex- 
perienced while  on  the  Trail,  in  the  companionship  of  the  other 
Long  and  Short  Horns. 

Now,  let  me  test  my  memory  as  to  distance.  1 will  call 
the  distance  from  one  town  to  another  as  the  old  wagon  road 
runs.  From  San  Antonio  to  New  Braunfels  is  thirty  miles,  from 
New  Braunfels  to  San  Marcos,  twenty  miles,  from  San  Marcos 
to  Austin,  thirty  miles,  from  Austin  to  Round  Rock,  seventeen 
miles,  from  Round  Rock  to  Georgetown,  nine  miles,  from 
Georgetown  to  Salado,  twenty-four  miles,  from  Salado  to 
Belton,  twelve  miles,  from  Belton  to  Fort  Graham,  sixty-five 
miles,  from  Fort  Graham  to  Cleburne,  forty  miles,  from  Cle- 
burne to  Fort  Worth  twenty-eight  miles. 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


27 


I note  that  I do  not  find  in  John  Chisum’s  history  where  he 
ever  drove  a herd  of  cattle  from  Texas  to  Kansas,  but  he  drove 
thousands  of  cattle  into  the  Pecos  Country  and  New  Mexico, 
about  1864  and  1866. 

It  is  stated  that  one  Jess  Chisholm  drove  cattle  to  the  Na- 
tion and  Kansas  before  and  during  the  war,  crossing  the  Red 
River  at  Choke  Bluff  Crossing  below  Denison.  Mr.  Sugg  also 
states  that  this  Jess  Chisholm  was  half  Indian,  and  that  his 
ranch  was  located  near  the  Canadian  River.  In  later  years  he 
crossed  his  herd  higher  up  near  Gainesville,  so  as  to  reach  his 
ranch  on  the  Canadian. 

I note  again  the  Old  Cow  Trail  forked  at  Bolivar.  The 
route  of  this  right  hand  trail  crossed  Red  River  below  Gaines- 
ville, thence  to  Oil  Springs,  on  to  Fort  Arbuckle,  crossing  Wild 
Horse  Creek,  and  intersecting  the  main  trail  at  the  south  fork 
of  the  Canadian  River.  The  last  main  western  trail  ran  by 
Coleman,  Texas,  on  to  Bell  Plain,  thence  to  Baird,  on  to  Al- 
bany, from  there  to  Fort  Griffin,  to  Double  Mountain  Fork, 
crossing  Red  River  at  Doan’s  Store. 

Now  here  I have  one  more  old  trail,  and  1 have  a printed 
map  of  same.  They  call  it  the  McCoy  Trail.  It  started  at  Cor- 
pus Christi,  leading  from  there  to  Austin,  thence  to  George- 
town on  to  Buchanan,  to  Decatur,  from  there  to  Red  River 
Station  on  to  the  Red  Fork  of  the  Arkansas  River;  thence  to 
Abilene,  Kansas.  A short  story  of  the  life  of  Wild  Bill  Hickok 
goes  with  the  map.  I do  not  think  there  ever  was  a cow  trail 
in  Texas  called  ( the  McCoy  Trail,  but  1 will  state  that  I am 
somewhat  acquainted  with  Wild  Bill  Hickok.  He  was  city 
marshall  of  Wichita,  Kansas,  in  1870.  I think  they  are  try- 
ing to  put  the  “kibosh”  on  us. 

The  Old  Chisholm  Cow  Trail  varied  in  width  at  river  cross- 
ings, from  fifty  to  one  hundred  yards.  In  some  places  it  spreads 
out  from  one  mile  to  two  miles  in  width.  The  average  drive  in 
a day  was  eight  to  ten  and  twelve  miles,  and  the  time  on  the 
Trail  was  from  sixty  to  ninety  days,  from  points  in  Texas  to 
^Abilene  or  Newton,  or  Ellsworth,  Kansas. 

What  happened  on  the  Old  Cow  Trail,  in  those  days  of  long 
ago  is  almost  forgotten,  and  it  is  a sad  thought  to  us  today 
that  there  is  no  stone  or  mile  post  to  mark  the  Old  Trail’s  lo- 


28 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


cation.  The  old  time  cow-puncher  that  followed  the  Trail,  his 
mount,  his  make-up,  the  old  Trail  songs  that  he  sang,  what 
he  did,  and  how  he  did  it,  is  left  yet  to  someone  to  give  him  the 
proper  place  in  history. 

What  he  was  then  and  what  he  is  now,  I hope  to  meet  him 
over  there  in  the  Sweet  Bye  and  Bye,  where  no  mavericks  or 
slicks  will  be  tallied. 


THE  PUMPHREY  BROTHERS’  EXPERIENCE 
ON  THE  TRAIL. 

By  J.  B.  Pumphrey,  of  Taylor,  Texas. 

I am  glad  that  the  Old  Trail  Drivers’  Association  is  making 
up  a collection  of  letters  and  stories  of  the  “Boys  Who  Rode 
the  Trail,”  and  it  will  be  fine  to  read  them  and  recall  the  old 
days.  I am  pleased  to  hand  you  a brief  sketch  of  myself  and 
some  of  my  experiences. 

My  mother  was  a Boyce,  one  of  the  old  pioneer  families  of 
Texas,  and  my  father  came  from  Ohio  as  a surgeon  with  Gen- 
eral Taylor,  during  the  war  between  the  United  States  and 
Mexico,  and  afterwards  settled  in  Texas.  My  oldest  uncle, 
Jim  Boyce,  was  killed  and  scalped  by  Indians  on  the  bank  of 
Gilleland’s  Creek,  near  Austin. 

I was  born  at  old  Round  Rock  on  the  10th  of  November, 
1852,  and  had  the  usual  schooling  of  that  time,  when  the  “Blue 
Back  Speller”  and  “Dog-wood  Switch”  were  considered  the 
principal  necessities  for  the  boy’s  education. 

All  of  my  life  I have  been  engaged  in  the  cow  business,  tak- 
ing my  first  job  in  1869,  at  $ 15.00  a month,  for  eighteen  (18) 
hours  a day  if  necessary,  with  horses  furnished. 

In  February,  1872,  I made  my  first  trip  on  the  long  trail 
helping  to  gather  a herd  at  the  old  Morrow  Ranch,  about  two 
miles  from  Taylor,  and  from  there  we  went  through  to  Kan- 
sas, and  then  rode  back,  making  about  a four  months’  trip  in 
all,  and  I then  felt  like  I was  a real  graduated  cow  boy.  I 
would  like  to  see  this  ride  in  ’72  compared  with  the  longest 
ride  that  was  ever  made.  My  wages  on  the  trail  were  $60.00 
per  month,  I furnishing  six  head  of  cow  ponies.  This  trip 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


29 


was  made  while  working-  for  Cul  Juvanel,  who  was  from  In- 
diana and  had  a lot  of  Indiana  boys  with  him,  whom  we  called 
“Short  Horns.”  Myself  and  two  others,  Beal  Humphrey,  my 
brother,  and  Taylor  Penick,  were  the  only  Texans  in  the  bunch. 
When  we  reached  the  South  Fork  of  the  Arkansas  River  it  was 
night,  and  about  five  o’clock  in  the  morning  after  waking  the 
cook,  1 was  on  my  way  back  to  the  herd  when  I saw  our  horses 
were  being  hustled,  and  was  afraid  they  would  stampede  the 
herd,  when  just  then  the  cook  yelled  “Indians,”  and  sure 
enough  they  had  rounded  up  our  horses  and  were  going  away 
with  them.  A heavy  rain  was  falling  and  the  boss  said,  “You 
Texas  boys  follow  the  Indians  and  get  those  horses.”  The 
two  others  and  myself  rode  one  day  and  night,  having  to  swim 
rivers  and  creeks  with  our  clothing  fastened  on  our  shoulders 
to  keep  them  dry,  making  the  hardest  ride  of  my  life,  but  we 
did  not  overtake  the  Indians;  and  I am  now  glad  that  we  did 
not.  We  were  left  with  but  one  horse  each,  with  this  herd, 
but  had  another  herd  near  by  and  throwing  the  two  together, 
making  about  six  thousand  head,  we  took  them  through  to 
Kansas. 

I remember  one  trip  later  in  the  year  with  Dave  Pryor  and 
Ike  Pryor  when  we  were  working  for  Bill  Arnold  of  Llano 
County.  We  got  back  home  on  the  night  of  December  24th, 
and  rolling  up  in  our  blankets  slept  in  the  yard  where  the  folks 
found  us  in  the  morning. 

In  1873  I made- another  trip  to  Kansas  with  Bill  Murchison 
of  Llano  County, . and  in  later  years  took  two  other  herds 
through  to  Kansas. 

I have  handled  cattle  in  Mexico,  South  and  Central  Texas, 
Oklahoma,  and  once  had  a herd  in  Wyoming.  1 was  director 
and  vice  president  of  the  Taylor  National  Bank  for  twenty- 
four  years,  president  of  the  McCulloch  County  Land  & Cat- 
tle Company  about  twenty-five  years,  and  now  have  ranches 
in  McCulloch  and  Stonewall  Counties. 

1 have  never  forgotten  the  feel  of  the  saddle  after  a long- 
day,  the  weight  and  pull  of  the  old  six-shooter,  and  what  a 
blessing  to  cow  men  was  the  old  yellow  slicker.  Those  were 
the  days  when  men  depended  upon  themselves  first,  but  could 
rely  on  their  friends  to  help,  if  necessary.  Days  of  hard  work 


30 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


but  good  health ; plain  fare  but  strong  appetites,  when  people 
expected  to  work  for  their  living  and  short  hours  and  big  pay 
was  unknown. 

In  conclusion  I wish  to  say  any  movement  that  will  pre- 
serve the  memories  of  the  old  trail  days  is  valuable,  for  in  a 
few  years  most  of  those  who  “Rode  the  Trail”  will  have  cross- 
ed the  great  divide.  All  honor  to  the  Old  Timers  who  have 
gone  before,  and  good  luck  to  all  of  you  who  are  left. 


By  R.  B.  Pumphrey,  of  San  Antonio. 

In  offering  this  a small  sketch  of  my  life  to  be  published  in 
the  book  that  is  to  be  published  by  the  Old  Trail  Drivers’  As- 
sociation, 1 find  it  will  be  necessary  for  me  to  quote  the  same 
things  that  are  written  by  my  brother,  J.  B.  Pumphrey. 

“My  mother  was  a Boyce,  one  of  the  old  pioneer  families  of 
Texas,  and  my  father  came  from  Ohio  as  a surgeon  with 
General  Taylor,  during  the  war  between  the  United  States  and 
Mexico,  and  afterwards  settled  in  Texas.  My  oldest  uncle, 
Jim  Boyce,  was  killed  and  scalped  by  Indians  on  the  bank  of 
Gilleland’s  Creek  near  Austin.” 

Like  my  brother,  I too,  was  born  at  Old  Round  Rock,  on 
April  3rd,  1854.  Our  education  was  very  much  alike  the 
principal  studies  being  “Blue  Back  Speller”  and  the  “Dog- 
wood Switch.’’ 

I have  been  in  the  cattle  business  practically  all  of  my  life, 
beginning  when  1 was  sixteen  or  seventeen  years  old,  and 
finally  in  February,  1872,  my  brother  and  I assisted  in  mak- 
ing up  a herd  for  the  Trail.  This  herd  was  sold  to  a man  by 
the  name  of  Cul  Juvanel  and  our  experiences  on  this  trip  were 
practically  the  same.  We  went  through  to  Kansas,  riding 
back,  making  about  a four  months’  trip  in  all.  My  wages  on 
the  trail  were  $60.00  per  month.  This  trip  was  made  while 
working  for  Cul  Juvanel,  who  was  from  Indiana  and  had  a 
lot  of  Indiana  boys  with  him,  whom  we  called  “Short  Horns.” 
Myself  and  two  others,  John  Pumphrey,  my  brother,  and  Tay- 
lor Penick,  were  the  only  Texans  in  the  bunch.  When  we 
reached  the  South  Fork  of  the  Arkansas  River  it  was  night, 
and  about  5 o’clock  in  the  morning  after  waking  the  cook, 
was  on  my  way  back  to  the  herd  when  I saw  our  horses  were 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


31 


being'  hustled,  and  was  afraid  they  would  stampede  the  herd,- 
and  just  then  the  cook  yelled  ‘Indians,’  and  sure  enough 
they  had  rounded  up  our  horses  and  gone  away  with  them.  A 
heavy  rain  was  falling  and  the  boss  said,  ‘You  Texas  boys 
follow  the  Indians  and  get  those  horses.’  The  two  others 
and  myself  rode  one  day  and  night,  having  to  swim  the  rivers 
with  our  clothing  fastened  on  our  shoulders  to  keep  them  dry, 
making  the  hardest  ride  of  my  life,  but  we  did  not  overtake 
the  Indians;  and  I am  now  glad  that  we  did  not.  We  were 
left  with  but  one  horse  each,  with  this  herd,  but  had  another 
herd  near  by  and  throwing  the  two  together,  making  about 
6000  head,  we  took  them  through  to  Kansas.” 

In  1873  I made  another  trip  to  Kansas  with  W.  T.  Avery. 
On  this  trip  just  north  of  the  Arkansas  River  we  had  another 
experience  that  I think  is  worth  relating.  There  were  about 
four  or  five  big  herds  camped  near  together  and  we  had  a 
very  severe  storm,  consequently  our  herds  were  badly  mixed 
and  it  took  us  all  the  following  day  to  separate  them,  each  fel- 
low getting  his  own  cattle.  After  we  had  separated  the  cat- 
tle we  counted  ours  and  found  that  we  were  about  15  head 
of  cattle  short..  So  Mr.  Avery  and  myself  and  one  other  man 
that  we  could  rely  on  made  a circle  around  where  the  cattle 
were  lost  to  see  if  we  could  find  the  trail  of  where  they  had 
gone  off.  We  finally  found  the  trail  and  followed  it  for  10 
or  15  miles,  when  my  horse  was  bitten  by  a rattlesnake  and 
of  course  we  knew  it  would  not  do  to  attempt  to  go  further 
on  a snake-bitten  horse,  so  we  retraced  our  steps  to  the  camp, 
finally  getting  this  snake-bitten  horse  into  the  camp  about  12 
o’clock  at  night.  During  the  absence  some  of  the  neighbors 
told  the  bosses  that  we  had  been  killed  by  the  Osage  Indians 
and  our  men  of  course  all  thought  we  had  been  killed  until  we 
arrived  at  camp,  or  else  we  would  not  have  stayed  out  so 
late.  Early  the  next  morning  we  reported  to  our  foreman, 
telling  him  that  we  had  found  the  trail  and  that  they  were  be- 
ing driven  off  by  the  Indians — so  he  reinforced  our  party  by 
one  man  and  sent  us  off  again  to  see  if  we  could  get  the  cat- 
tle. We  did  not  lose  much  time  in  following  the  cattle,  but 
as  they  had  two  days  the  start  of  us  we  were  never  able  to 
overtake  them,  which  perhaps  was  a good  thing  as  we  were 


32 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


poorly  armed  and  perhaps  would  have  been  three  men  against 
ten  or  fifteen  Indians.  We  rode  our  horses  so  hard  this  first 
day  that  we  were  unable  to  get  back  for  two  days  and  we  and 
our  horses  were  worn  out  and  almost  starved  when  we  reach- 
ed our  camp.  It  was  not  thought  advisable  to  trail  the  cattle 
any  further. 

After  this  second  year’s  experience  on  the  trail  I with  my 
two  brothers  went  to  Llano  County  where  we  associated  our- 
selves with  the  Moss  boys,  who  were  our  first  cousins,  and  for 
ten  years  I ranched  in  Llano  County.  In  ’84  my  brother,  Mr. 
Kuykendall  and  myself  moved  about  12,000  cattle  to  Wyom- 
ing Territory  where  I spent  two  years  on  the  range.  This 
proved  not  to  be  a very  successful  move  for  me  as  we  lost 
practically  everything  we  put  in  that  country.  After  that  I 
did  not  attempt  any  trail  driving  until  ’84  and  ’85.  My  broth- 
er, Kuykendall  and  myself  had  established  a ranch  in  Greer 
County  and  drove  several  herds  from  Central  Texas  to  Greer 
County  to  stock  this  ranch  with. 

While  those  were  hard  old  times,  1 have  never  regretted  for 
a minute  that  I underwent  the  hardships  as  it  was  the  kind  of  a 
life  that  I loved  at  that  time  and  1 only  wish  that  1 was  young 
enough  to  engage  in  the  same  life  again.  Many  of  the  old  boys 
who  were  on  the  trail  have  passed  away,  but  1 want  to  wish 
for  the  few  that  are  left  that  they  will  always  “graze  with  the 
lead  cattle.’’ 

(EDITOR’S  NOTE— J.  B.  Pumphrey  died  at  Taylor,  Tex- 
as, July  21,  1917.  R.  B.  Pumphrey  died  at  Austin,  May 
4,  1920.) 

DODGING  INDIANS  NEAR  PACKSADDLE  MOUNTAIN. 

By  E.  A.  (Berry)  Robuck,  Lockhart,  Texas. 

I was  born  in  Caldwell  County,  Texas,  September  3,  1857, 
and  was  in  my  sixteenth  year  when  I entered  the  trail  life.  My 
father  came  to  this-  state  from  Mississippi,  in  1846,  when  he 
was  sixteen  years  old.  He  enlisted  in  the  Confederate  Army 
and  died  in  1863  of  pneumonia  while  in  the  service.  1 was 
the  oldest  of  three  brothers,  one  of  them  being  Terrell  (Tully) 
Robuck,  who  went  to  North  Dakota  with  Colonel  Jim  Ellison’s 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


33 


outfit  in  1876.  He  was  then  sixteen  years  old.  Emmet  Ro- 
buck,  who  was  assassinated  at  Brownsville,  in  1902,  while  serv- 
ing as  a state  ranger,  was  my  son. 

I made  my  first  trip  up  the  trail  to  Utah  Territory  with  old 
man  Coleman  Jones,  who  was  boss  for  a herd  belonging  to 
Colonel  Jack  Meyers.  This  herd  was  put  up  at  the  Smith  & 
Wimberly  ranch  in  Gillespie  County.  I gained  wonderful  ex- 
perience on  this  trip  in  the  stampedes,  high  water,  hail  storms, 
thunder  and  lightning  which  played  on  the  horns  of  the  cat- 
tle and  on  my  horse’s  ears.  We  suffered  from  cold  and  hun- 
ger and  often  slept  on  wet  blankets  and  wore  wet  clothing  for 
several  days  and  nights  at  a time,  but  it  was  all  in  the  game, 
and  we  were  compensated  for  these  unpleasant  things  by  the 
sport  of  roping  buffalo,  and  seeing  sights  we  had  never  seen 
before. 

On  one  occasion  my  boss  sent  me  from  the  Wimberly  ranch 
to  another  ranch  twenty  miles  away  to  get  some  bacon.  At 
the  foot  of  Packsaddle  Mountain  in  Llano  County  I passed 
about  fifty  Indians  who  had  killed  a beef  and  were  eating  their 
breakfast,  but  I failed  to  see  them  as  I passed.  When  I reached 
my  destination  a man  came  and  reported  the  presence  of  the 
Indians.  I had  to  return  over  the  same  route  1 had  come,  so 
I took  the  best  horse  I had  for  my  saddle  horse  and  put  the 
packsaddle  and  bacon  on  another  horse,  for  I was  determined 
to  go  back  without  being  handicapped  by  that  bacon.  I dodged 
the  Indians  and  got  back  to  the  Wimberly  ranch  in  safety. 

On  one  of  my  trail  trips  we  had  a trying  experience  be- 
tween Red  River  and  the  Great  Bend  of  the  Arkansas  River  on 
the  Western'trail,  when  we  had  to  go  without  water  for  twen- 
ty-four hours.  When  we  finally  reached  water  about  600  head 
of  the  cattle  bogged  in  the  mud  and  we  worked  all  night  pull- 
ing them  out. 

At  another  time  I was  on  the  Smoky  River  in  Kansas  when 
2800  beeves  stampeded.  I found  myself  in  the  middle  of  the 
herd,  while  a cyclone  and  hailstorm  made  the  frightened  brutes 
run  pell-mell.  The  lightning  played  all  over  the  horns  of  the 
cattle  and  the  ears  of  my  horse,  and  the  hail  almost  pounded 
the  brim  of  my  hat  off.  I stuck  to  the  cattle  all  night  all  alone, 
and  was  out  only  one  hundred  head  the  next  morning.  An- 


34 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


other  time  I ran  all  night,  lost  my  hat  in  the  stampede,  and 
went  through  the  rain  bareheaded. 

On  one  trip  myself  and  a negro,  Emanuel  Jones,  ran  into  a 
herd  of  buffalo  in  the  Indian  Territory,  and  roped  two  of  them. 
The  one  I lassoed  got  me  down  and  trampled  my  shirt  off,  but 
I tied  him  down  wth  a hobble  I had  around  my  waist.  One  day 
my  boss  told  me  we  were  going  to  make  a buffalo  run,  and 
asked  me  to  ride  my  best  horse.  The  horse  I rode  was  a red 
roan  belonging  to  George  Hill,  who  was  afterward  assassinated 
at  Cotulla,  Texas.  Myself  and  Wash  Murray  rode  together, 
and  when  we  got  into  the  chase  I caught  a five-year-old  cow. 
My  horse  was  “Katy  on  the  spot”  in  a case  of  that  kind,  and 
helped  me  to  win  the  championship  on  that  occasion.  I was 
the  only  man  in  the  party  that  succeeded  in  roping  a buffalo. 

1 met  Mac  Stewart,  Noah  Ellis,  Bill  Campbell  and  several 
other  old  Caldwell  County  boys  in  Ellsworth,  Kansas,  on  one 
of  my  trips.  Stewart  served  three  years  in  the  Confederate 
Army,  after  which  he  took  to  trail  life,  and  followed  that 
for  several  years,  then  going  to  Mexico  where  he  became  in- 
volved in  a difficulty  with  an  officer  and  killed  him.  He  was 
in  prison  for  over  ten  years  with  the  death  sentence  hanging 
over  him,  but  through  the  influence  of  friends  in  this  country 
he  was  finally  released  and  returned  to  Texas,  dying  shortly 
afterward. 

After  meeting  this  bunch  in  Ellsworth,  a number  of  us  re- 
turned home  together  with  the  saddle  horses.  We  came  back 
the  old  Chisholm  trail.  While  returning  through  the  Indian 
T erritory  we  were  caught  in  a cyclone  and  hailstorm  one  night 
while  I was  on  guard.  The  wind  was  so  strong  at  times  it  near- 
ly blew  me  out  of  the  saddle,  and  the  hail  pelted  me  so  hard 
great  knots  were  raised  on  my  head.  Next  morning  1 found 
myself  alone  in  a strange  land  with  the  horses,  for  I had  drift- 
ed with  the  storm.  Picking  up  the  back  trail  I started  for 
camp,  and  before  long  in  the  distance  I saw  some  people  com- 
ing towards  me.  I thought  they  might  be  Indians,  but  it  turned 
out  to  be  Mac  Stewart  and  others  who  had  started  out  to  search 
for  me.  The  horse  I was  riding  that  night  was  raised  by  Black 
Bill  Montgomery,  and  had  been  taken  up  the  trail  that  year  by 
Mark  Withers.  Three  days  later  we  reached  Red  River,  which 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


35 


was  on  a big'  rise.  We  were  out  of  grub,  but  had  to  remain 
there  for  three  days  waiting  for  the  river  to  run  down,  but  it 
kept  getting  higher,  so  we  decided  to  attempt  the  crossing.  We 
put  into  the  stream,  and  with  great  difficulty  got  the  horses 
across.  Mac  Stewart’s  horse  refused  to  swim,  and  as  Mac  could 
not  swim,  I went  to  his  rescue.  The  horse  floated  down  the 
river,  and  Mac  told  me  he  had  $300  in  money  and  his  watch 
tied  on  his  saddle.  Sam  Henry  and  l then  swam  to  the  horse 
and  took  the  saddle  off,  and  came  out  under  a bluff.  We  had 
a pretty  close  call,  but  reached  the  bank  finally  where  we  had 
a big  reunion  and  something  to  eat. 

There  is  one  incident  which  I feel  I ought  to  add,  as  perhaps 
it  did  not  fall  to  the  lot  of  many  of  the  boys  to  have  a similar 
one.  I am  the  chap  who  caught  the  blue  mustang  mare.  This 
was  while  we  were  range  herding  cattle  in  Kansas  on  the 
Smoky  River,  near  the  King  Hills,  about  fifteen  miles  from 
old  Fort  Hayes.  This  blue  mustang  would  come  to  our  saddle 
horses  at  night,  and  also  to  the  river  for  water.  The  boys  .were 
all  anxious  to  get  her,  had  set  snares  made  of  ropes  at  the  wa- 
tering places,  hoping  to  get  her  by  the  feet,  but  she  always 
managed  to  avoid  this  danger.  One  day  the  boys  found  her 
with  the  horses,  and  on  seeing  them  she  stampeded.  1 was  on 
the  range  about  the  foot  of  the  hills,  saw  her  coming  and  made 
for  her  with  my  rope  ready.  To  get  back  to  her  herd  she  had 
to  go  through  a gap  in  the  hills.  1 was  riding  a good  sorrel 
horse,  an  E P horse,  raised  by  Ed  Persons  of  Caldwell  county. 
I made  for  the  gap,  getting  there  just  in  time,  and  as  she  started 
to  enter  running  at  break-neck  speed,  just  in  the  nick  of  time  I 
threw  my  rope,  it  went  true  and  fell  securely  around  her  neck. 
When  the  rope  tightened,  she  jerked  my  horse  fully  thirty  feet, 
and  both  animals  went  down  together,  not  more  than  ten  feet 
apart.  I scrambled  to  my  feet,  getting  out  of  the  mix  up,  but 
I had  my  mustang.  Manuel  Jones  and  Dan  Sheppard,  two  of 
the  cow  boys  on  the  range,  coming  up  about  this  time,  helped 
me  to  further  secure  her  and  we  got  her  safely  back  to  camp. 
In  time  she  responded  to  good  treatment,  made  a fine  saddle 
animal  and  with  her  long  black  mane  and  tail,  she  was  a beauty 
of  which  I was  justly  proud.  Good  saddle  horses  could  be  had 
cheap  at  that  time  but  I sold  her  near  Red  River  for  $65.00. 


36 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


F FOUGHT  INDIANS  ON  THE  TRAIL. 

By  Henry  Ramsdale,  of  Sabinal,  Texas. 

I came  to  Texas  in  1876,  and  have  been  handling  cattle 
nearly  ever  since.  Made  my  first  trip  with  Joe  Collins  and  had 
a pretty  good  time.  My  next  trip  was  from  Llano  and  Ma- 
son counties.  Was  attacked  by  Indians  several  times  and  on 
one  occasion  we  lost  all  of  our  horses  except  the  ones  we  were 
riding,  and  one  man  was  killed  by  the  redskins.  Had  to  make 
the  drive  from  the  head  of  the  Concho  to  the  Pecos  River,  a 
distance  of  eighty  miles,  without  water  for  ourselves  or  cattle. 
From  there  we  had  a very  good  trip,  but  saw  Indians  nearly 
every  day.  I stayed  with  this  outfit  until  the  next  spring,  when 
1 came  back  to  Texas  and  settled  in  Uvalde  county,  and  have 
been  here  ever  since. 


CYCLONES,  BLIZZARDS,  HIGH  WATER,  STAMPEDES 
AND  INDIANS  ON  THE  TRAIL 

By  G.  H.  Mohle,  Lockhart,  Texas 

In  April,  1869,  I was  employed  by  Black  Bill  Montgomery 
to  go  with  a herd  of  4,500  head  of  stock  cattle  on  the  drive 
to  Abilene,  Kansas.  We  started  from  Lockhart,  and  crossed 
the  Colorado  River  below  Austin,  out  by  way  of  Georgetown, 
Waxahachie,  and  on  to  Red  River,  which  we  found  very  high. 
We  were  several  days  getting  the  herd  across  this  stream.  The 
first  day  I crossed  over  with  a!?out  a thousand  head  and  came 
back  and  worked  the  rest  of  the  day  in  the  water,  but  could 
not  get  any  more  of  the  cattle  across  on  account  of  the  wind 
and  waves.  Two  of  the  boys  and  myself  went  across  with 
grub  enough  for  supper  and  breakfast,  but  the  next  day  the 
weather  was  so  bad  the  others  could  not  cross  to  bring  us 
something  to  eat  and  we  were  compelled  to  go  hungry  for 
forty-eight  hours.  The  next  night  about  twelve  o’clock  we 
heard  yelling  and  shouting,  but  thinking  it  might  be  Indians, 
we  remained  quiet  and  did  not  know  until  noon  the  next 
day  that  it  was  some  of  the  boys  of  our  outfit  who  had  brought 
us  some  grub,  which  we  found  hanging  in  a tree.  The  third 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


37 


day  the  balance  of  the  herd  was  crossed  over  without  further 
trouble.  Flies  and  mosquitos  were  very  bad,  and  kept  us 
engaged  in  fighting  them  off. 

When  we  reached  the  North  Fork  of  the  Canadian  River 
is  was  also  pretty  high,  on  account  of  heavy  rains.  The  water 
was  level  with  the  bank  on  this  side,  but  on  the  far  side  the 
bank  was  about  six  feet  above  the  water  and  the  going  out 
place  being  only  about  twenty  feet  wide.  We  had  trouble 
getting  the  cattle  into  the  water,  and  when  they  did  get  started 
they  crowded  in  so  that  they  could  not  get  out  on  the  other 
side,  and  began  milling,  and  we  lost  one  hundred  and  sixteen 
head  and  three  horses.  When  we  arrived  at  the  Arkansas 
River  we  found  it  out  of  its  banks  and  we  were  compelled 
to  wait  several  days  for  it  to  run  down.  We  were  out  of 
provisions,  and  tried  to  purchase  some  from  a government 
train  which  was  camped  at  this  point.  This  wagon  train  was 
loaded  with  flour  and  bacon,  enroute  to  Fort  Sill.  The  man 
in  charge  refused  to  sell  us  anything,  so  when  the  guard  was 
absent  we  “borrowed”  enough  grub  to  last  us  until  we  could 
get  some  more.  When  the  flood  stage  had  passed,  we  crossed 
the  river  and  reached  Abilene,  Kansas,  the  latter  part  of  June, 
camping  there  a month,  and  finally  sold  the  cattle  to  Mr. 
Evans  of  California  for  $2  5 per  head,  with  the  understanding 
that  Black  Bill  Montgomery,  Bill  Henderson,  myself  and  Gov, 
the  negro  cook,  were  to  go  along  with  the  cattle.  Mr.  Evans 
also  bought  the  horses. 

About  the  first  of  August  we  started  for  California.  When 
we  reached  the  Republican  River,  a cyclone  struck  us,  turned 
our  wagon  over,  and  scattered  things  generally.  Mr  Evans 
had  a large  tent.  It  went  up  in  the  air  and  we  saw  it  no  more. 
We  next  reached  the  Platte  River  where  we  camped  for  several 
days  to  allow  the  cattle  to  graze  and  rest.  On  account  of  f 
quicksand  in  the  river  we  had  to  go  up  the  stream  about 
twenty-five  miles  to  make  a crossing.  At  Platte  City  we 
purchased  a supply  of  provisions,  and  went  on  up  the  north- 
west side  of  the  river  about  a hundred  miles,  to  where  about 
five  hundred  soldiers  were  camped.  We  camped  about  a quar- 
ter of  a mile  above  the  soldiers’  camp,  and  thought  we  were 
pretty  safe  from  Indian  attack,  but  one  night  about  three 


38 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


o’clock  we  were  awakened  by  an  awful  noise.  We  thought  it 
was  a passing  railroad  train  but  instead  it  was  our  horses  being- 
driven  off  by  Indians  right  along  near  our  camp.  As  they 
passed  us  the  Indians  fired  several  shots  in  our  direction,  but 
no  one  was  hit.  We  had  sixty-three  horses  and  the  red  rascals 
captured  all  of  them  except  five  head.  Mr.  Evans  sent  one 
of  the  hands  to  notify  the  soldiers  of  our  loss  and  get  them 
on  the  trail  of  the  Indians.  It  was  nine  o’clock  the  next 
morning  before  the  soldiers  passed  our  camp  in  pursuit, 
and  as  the  Indians  had  such  a good  start  they  were  never 
overtaken.  We  remained  there  all  day,  and  the  next- 
morning  we  started  out  afoot.  For  about  a week  we  felt 
pretty  sore  from  walking  as  we  were  not  used  to  this  kind  of 
herding.  When  we  reached  Cheyenne,  we  secured  mounts, 
and  laid  in  a supply  of  grub  and  traveled  up  Crow  Creek  to 
Cheyenne  Pass,  where  we  had  our  first  blizzard  and  snow. 

The  next  morning  the  snow  was  six  inches  deep,  and  the 
weather  was  bitterly  cold.  Our  next  town  was  Fort  Laramie, 
and  from  there  we  went  on  to  Elk  Mountain  on  the  Overland 
Immigrant  Trail  to  California,  where  we  stopped  for  three 
days  because  of  the  heavy  snow.  We  had  very  little  trouble 
until  we  reached  Bitter  Creek,  called  Barrel  Springs  on  account 
of  many  barrels  having  been  placed  in  the  ground  and  served 
as  water  springs.  Here  we  cut  out  five  hundred  of  the  cattle 
because  they  were  not  able  to  keep  up.  Five  of  us  were  left 
to  bring  them  on,  and  we  traveled  down  the  creek  for  a dis- 
tance of  about  twenty  miles.  One  day  at  noon  we  camped  and 
some  of  the  cattle  drank  water  in  the  creek  and  within  twenty 
minutes  they  died.  I drank  from  a spring  on  the  side  of  the 
mountain,  thinking  the  water  was  good,  and  in  a short  while  I 
thought  I was  going  to  die  too.  An  Irishman  came  along  and  I 
told  him  I was  sick  from  drinking  the  water,  and  he  informed 
that  it  was  very  poisonous.  He  carried  me  to  a store  and 
bought  me  some  whiskey  and  pretty  soon  I was  able  to  travel. 
We  went  up  Green  River  and  crossed  it  at  the  mouth  of 
Hamsford,  and  then  crossed  the  divide  between  Wyoming  and 
Utah.  The  temperature  was  down  to  zero,  and  when  we 
reached  the  little  town  of  Clarksville,  Utah,  we  remained 
there  two  weeks.  Mr.  Evans  sent  the  cattle  up  into  the 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


39 


mountains,  and  we  took  stage  for  Corrine,  just  north  of  Salt 
Lake  City,  where  we  hoarded  the  train  for  home. 

(EDITOR’S  NOTE — Mr.  Mohle,  the  writer  of  the  above 
sketch,  died  at  his  home  in  Lockhart,  Texas,  October  11, 
1918,  aged  71  years. ) 


MISTAKEN  FOR  COLE  YOUNGER  AND  ARRESTED. 

By  S.  A.  Hickok,  Karnes  City,  Texas 

I was  born  at  Columbus,  Ohio,  December  8th,  1842,  and 
moved  to  Mattoon,  Illinois,  when  I was  about  twenty-four 
years  old,  and  engaged  in  buying  chickens,  turkeys,  ducks  and 
geese  and  shipping  them  by  carload  to  New  Orleans,  La. 

When  I would  go  to  New  Orleans  with  my  shipment  of  poul- 
try I heard  a great  deal  about  Texas,  and  the  money  that  was 
to  be  made  in  sending  cattle  up  the  trail,  so  I decided  to  move 
to  Texas.  ! met  a man  by  the  name  of  Couch  who  was  making 
up  a party  to  go  on  an  excursion  train  to  Dallas,  Tex.,  and  made 
arrangements  to  meet  him  in  Saint  Louis  and  join  the  excursion 
party  there.  My  brother  accompanied  me  to  Saint  Louis,  and 
a short  while  after  our  arrival  we  passed  a man  on  the  street 
and  he  said,  “Hello  Younger.”  I told  him  he  was  mistaken, 
that  my  name  was  not  Younger.  He  asked  me  if  I was  not 
from  Marshall,  Missouri,  and  I told  him  that  I was  not.  We 
went  to  a cheap  boarding  house  and  made  arrangements  to 
stay  all  night.  We  went  to  the  Southern  Hotel  that  night  to 
see  if  Couch  had  arrived.  While  we  were  there  a man  came  in 
and  asked  me  if  I was  from  Marshall  county,  and  I replied, 
“No;  I have  been  asked  that  question  twice  today.”  He  then 
called  me  aside  and  asked  me  several  questions,  and  just  then 
motioned  a policeman  to  come  near.  They  asked  me  if  I was 
armed  and  1 told  them  that  it  was  none  fo  their  business,  but 
as  they  insisted  on  searching  me  I told  them  to  proceed  but 
be  sure  they  had  the  proper  authority  for  their  action.  They 
found  a small  six-shooter,  a draft  for  $1000,  and  about  $100 
in  cash  on  me,  and  the  policeman  said  he  would  have  to  take 
me  down  to  the  police  station.  When  we  arrived  there  I 
learned  that  they  thought  that  they  had  Cole  Younger,  one 


40 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


of  the  Jesse  James  desperadoes.  I told  them  to  telegraph  the 
First  National  Bank  of  Mattoon,  Illinois,  and  they  could  get 
all  the  information  they  needed  to  establish  my  identity.  But 
they  locked  me  up  in  a cell  and  kept  me  there  over  night. 
Next  day  they  released  me,  and  returned  my  pistoLand  money 
to  me. 

I reached  Dallas  in  the  Spring  of  1875,  and  went  to  Fort 
Worth,  which  was  then  a small  place.  My  brother  and  I 
purchased  a pair  of  Mexican  ponies,  a new  wagon  and  camping 
outfit  and  started  for  San  Antonio.  Near  Burnett  we  met  a 
man  who  had  a ranch  and  some  sheep  in  Bandera  county,  and 
we  went  with  him  and  bought  six  hundred  head  of  sheep,  thus 
embarking  in  the  sheep  business,  doing  our  own  herding,  shear- 
ing, cooking  and  washing.  We  had  hard  sledding  for  a long 
time  but  finally  achieved  success.  We  moved  our  herd  from 
Bandera  county  to  the  southeast  corner  of  Atascosa  county, 
near  the  line  of  Live  Oak  and  Karnes  counties,  where  I located 
a ranch  of  15,000  acres  in  1877  or  1878.  There  I engaged 
in  sheep-raising  for  several  years,  finally  selling  out  and  buying 
horses  and  cattle.  I went  to  the  border  on  the  Rio  Grande, 
and  bought  many  horses  and  mares  and  drove  them  to  Kansas. 
The  next  year  I went  over  into  Mexico  and  bought  several 
hundred  horses,  which  I kept  on  the  ranch  for  about  a year, 
and  then  shipped  them  and  many  more  which  I had  bought  at 
different  times  to  Ohio,  New  York,  Nebraska,  Tennessee, 
Arkansas  and  Mississippi. 


A TRIP  TO  CALIFORNIA 

By  Jeff  M.  White  of  Pleasanton,  Texas 

1 was  born  in  Palmyra,  Marion  county,  Missouri,  October 
20th,  1831.  In  the  spring  of  1852  a bunch  of  us  were  stricken 
with  the  gold  fever.  We  rigged  up  three  ox  wagons,  five  yoke 
to  a wagon,  and  started  on  the  13th  day  of  April  in  1852  for 
the  California  gold  mines.  We  crossed  the  Mississippi  River 
at  Savannah,  Holt  county,  Missouri,  on  the  3rd  day  of  May. 
At  this  time  this  country  belonged  to  the  Sioux  Indians,  being 
their  hunting  grounds.  However,  we  had  no  trouble  with  them. 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


41 


The  first  white  people  we  saw  after  leaving  the  Missouri  River 
were  a few  soldiers  at  Fort  Karney  on  the  Platte  River.  Re- 
garding these  soldiers  will  say  they  were  in  no  condition  to 
protect  any  one  as  it  looked  as  though  they  had  not  washed 
their  faces  in  months.  However,  they  were  good  card  players. 
We  forded  the  South  Platte  and  went  across  to  the  North 
Platte  and  proceeded  up  that  stream  to  Fort  Laramie.  We 
also  found  a few  soldiers  here  in  about  the  same  condition  as 
the  others  and  we  did  not  look  to  them  for  any  protection.  We 
crossed  the  middle  fork  of  the  Platte  above  Fort  Laramie  on 
a bridge  and  from  there  we  went  north  to  the  North  Platte. 
We  traveled  up  this  stream  to  the  Mormon  Ferry.  Before 
reaching  this  Mormon  Ferry  we  passed  some  two  or  three 
times  a big  black  Dutchman  rolling  a wheelbarrow.  The 
Mormons  put  him  across  ahead  of  us  giving  him  a bottle  of 
whiskey  and  some  buffalo  meat  and  this  is  the  last  we  ever  saw 
of  him. 

The  next  water  we  found  was  the  Sweetwater  River,  but 
will  say  the  water  was  not  sweet  but  as  fine  as  I ever  drank. 
The  first  curiosity  we  found  was  the  Chimney  Rock.  This  was 
on  the  south  side  of  the  North  Platte.  The  base  of  this  rock 
covered  some  five  or  six  acres  of  the  ground  and  extended  in 
the  air  to  a height  of  approximately  four  hundred  feet  and 
from  this  there  extended  a smaller  stem  some  ten  or  twelve 
feet  in  diameter  and  must  have  been  eighty  or  more  feet  high 
and  was  soft  sand  rock. 

After  crossing  the  Sweetwater  River  we  found  another 
curiosity  called  the  Independence  Rock.  This  rock  is  on  the 
Old  Fremont  Trail  and  this  is  where  Fremont  ate  his  Fourth 
of  July  dinner,  on  July  4th,  1847,  hence  the  name  Independ- 
ence Rock.  Where  the  Sweetwater  River  comes  out  of  the 
Rocky  Mountains  is  a solid  rock  gap  claimed  to  be  three 
hundred  feet  deep.  I know  it  was  so  deep  we  couldn’t  look 
over  into  it  without  laying  down  flat  on  our  stomachs.  From 
here  we  proceeded  to  what  is  called  the  South  Pass,  a low 
flat  place  in  the  Rocky  Mountains,  and  some  two  days  travel 
brought  us  to  a place  where  the  roads  forked.  At  this  place 
we  held  an  election  to  determine  which  road  to  take,  the  left 
road  going  to  Salt  Lake  City  and  the  right  hand  road  was  the 


42 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


Fremont  Trail  going  west.  ‘The  majority  voted  to  go  by  Salt 
Lake  City.  Will  say,  before  reaching  the  forks  of  this  road, 
we  had  overtaken  another  party,  called  the  Priest  Train, 
making  a total  of  seven  wagons  and  twenty-eight  men. 

On  our  road  to  Salt  Lake  City  we  had  to  go  into  what  is 
called  Echo  Canyon.  The  Mormons,  on  going  down  into  this 
canyon,  let  their  wagons  down  by  putting  ropes  and  chains 
around  trees  that  grew  upon  the  side  of  the  canyon  and  fast- 
ening same  to  rear  of  wagon.  When  we  reached  this  place 
the  trees  were  all  dead,  so  we  took  all  the  oxen  loose  except 
the  wheel  team,  and  fastened  them  to  the  rear  axle  and  let  the 
wagon  down  into  the  canyon.  It  required  half  of  a day  to 
let  our  seven  wagons  down.  After  getting  down  into  this 
canyon  the  road  travels  down  same  into  the  Salt  Lake  Valley. 

Will  also  add  that  our  principal  fuel  on  this  trip  was  buffalo 
chips,  but  west  of  the  Rocky  Mountains  there  were  no  buffalo 
so  we  used  cow  chips. 

It  is  eight  hundred  miles  from  Salt  Lake  City  to  California 
and  there  were  only  two  different  tribes  of  Indians,  the  Utahs 
and  Piutes.  In  the  summer  time  the  Piutes  live  mostly  on 
roasted  lizards  and  grass  hoppers,  there  being  no  game  in  this 
part  of  the  country  to  amount  to  anything,  only  a few  scatter- 
ing black  tail  deer. 

We  arrived  in  Salt  Lake  City  a day  or  two  before  the  Fourth 
of  July,  1852,  and  spent  the  fourth  there.  About  all  the  cele- 
bration was  a few  horse  races  on  the  main  street  of  the  city. 
At  this  time  it  was  a small  town,  there  being  only  two  good 
houses  in  the  town,  the  Mormon  Temple  and  Brigham  Young’s 
Temple.  At  this  time  it  was  told  by  the  Mormons  that  Brigham 
Young  had  some  sixty  odd  wives  and  of  course  it  required  a 
large  house  to  hold  them. 

We  were  never  bothered  by  the  Indians  as  we  watched 
them  day  and  night  and  an  Indian  is  good  only  when  he  is 
watched.  I never  saw  one  with  a gun  or  pistol  on  the  entire 
trip.  Their  fighting  weapons  were  bow  and  arrows,  tomahawk 
and  scalping  or  bowie  knives. 

After  leaving  Salt  Lake  City  we  crossed  the  River  Jordan 
and  the  next  water  was  a good  spring  at  the  head  of  the 
Humbolt  River.  This  river,  however,  is  three  hundred  and 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


43 


thirty  miles  long,  running  through  a flat  alkali  country,  and  the 
worst  water  a human  or  beast  ever  tried  to  drink.  It  spreads 
out  and  sinks  into  the  earth,  not  emptying  into  any  other 
stream.  While  traveling  down  this  stream  one  of  our  men 
took  sick  and  we  had  no  good  water  for  him  . While  nooning 
one  day,  on  this  stream,  one  of  the  boys  went  fishing  with  a 
little  fly  hook  not  larger  than  a sewing  thread  and  caught 
four  or  five  fish.  When  he  returned  he  found  an  old  Piute 
Indian  in  camp.  This  Indian  wanted  to  see  what  our  boy  had 
caught  the  fish  with  and  when  the  boy  showed  him  the  hook 
he  examined  it  very  closely  and  from  his  actions,  it  seemed 
this  was  the  first  hook  he  had  ever  seen.  He  had  on  an  old 
ragged  coat  and  from  the  tail  of  this  he  unwound  a string  and 
brought  out  a Mexican  dollar  and  gave  it  to  the  boy  for  the 
fish-hook.  This  old  Indian  having  a Mexican  dollar  was  as 
much  a curiosity  to  us  as  the  fish-hook  was  to  him.  He  was 
four  hundred  miles  from  Salt  Lake  City  and  about  the  same 
distance  from  California  or  any  white  settlement  and  the  ques- 
tion was  “Where  did  he  get  the  Mexican  dollar?  ” Where  this 
Humbolt  River  sinks  into  the  earth  we  cut  grass  and  filled  our 
wagons  to  feed  our  stock  on  as  we  had  to  cross  a desert  fifty 
miles  wide  and  filled  all  of  our  water  kegs  so  as  to  give  stock 
water  that  night  and  this  was  all  the  water  they  had  until  we 
crossed  the  desert.  The  last  twelve  miles  of  this  trip  was 
deep  white  sand.  It  took  a day  and  night  to  cross  this  desert 
and  we  fed  our  stock  one  time  and  gave  them  one  drink.  This 
brought  us  to  Carson  River  where  our  sick  man  died.  We 
rolled  him  in  his  blankets,  as  we  had  no  coffin,  and  buried  him 
under  a large  elm  tree,  covering  him  the  best  we  could  with 
timber  and  dirt.  We  traveled  up  the  Carson  River,  the  worst 
road  we  had  on  the  entire  trip,  crossing  the  Sierra  Nevada 
Mountains  and  followed  the  slope  to  Hangtown,  California, 
the  first  mining  town  we  struck.  There  we  sold  out  everything 
we  had  in  the  shape  of  teams  and  wagons.  We  arrived  there 
the  27th  day  of  August  in  1852.  This  being  Dry  Diggings, 
meaning  no  gold  to  be  found,  after  resting  a few  days  we  all 
scattered  and  went  to  the  South  Fork  of  the  American  River 
and  four  or  five  of  the  boys  I have  never  seen  or  heard  of  since. 
I know  they  never  came  back  home.  After  staying  about  two 


44 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


years  and  a half  I returned  home.  I was  the  youngest  of  the 
outfit,  being  only  20  years  old  and  was  called  a 20  year  old 

boy. 


A THORNY  EXPERIENCE 

By  S.  B.  Brite,  of  Pleasanton,  Texas. 

Like  most  of  the  boys  of  the  early  days,  I had  to  sow  my 
wild  oats,  and  I regret  to  say  that  I also  sowed  all  of  the 
money  I made  right  along  with  the  oats.  I went  up  the  trail 
in  1882  with  a herd  belonging  to  Jim  Ellison  of  Caldwell 
county,  delivering  the  cattle  at  Caldwell,  Kansas.  I went  again 
in  1884  with  Mark  Withers,  starting  from  the  Tigire  ranch 
in  LaSalle  county,  where  Mr.  J.  M.  Dobie  now  lives.  When 
we  reached  the  Canadian  River  it  was  on  a rise,  and  we 
drowned  a horse  which  was  hitched  to  the  chuck  wagon. 
While  making  this  crossing  a negro’s  horse  sank  in  the  middle 
of  the  river  and  left  the  rider  standing  on  a sandbar.  After  we 
crossed  the  cattle  over  I swam  my  horse  out  and  allowed  the 
negro  to  swing  to  his  tail  and  thus  ferried  him  across.  The 
negro  thanked  me  and  said  that  horse’s  tail  was  just  like  the 
“hand  of  providence”.  We  delivered  the  cattle  on  the  Platte 
River,  and  I returned  to  the  Tigire  ranch  where  I worked  for 
seven  years.  While  on  this  ranch  one  day  Gus  Withers,  the 
boss,  picked  out  a fine  bay  horse  and  told  me  that  if  I could 
ride  him  I could  use  him  for  a saddle  horse.  I managed  to 
mount  him,  but  after  I got  up  there  I had  to  “choke  the  horn 
and  claw  leather”,  but  to  no  avail  for  he  dumped  me  off  in 
the  big  middle  of  a prickly  pear  bush.  When  the  boys  pulled 
me  out  of  that  bush  they  found  that  my  jacket  was  nailed  to 
my  back  as  securely  as  if  the  job  had  been  done  with  six 
penny  nails. 

I went  up  the  trail  twice,  and  drove  the  drag  both  times, 
did  all  the  hard  work,  got  all  the  “cussin’,”  but  had  the  good 
luck  never  to  get  “fired.” 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


45 


RAISED  ON  THE  FRONTIER 

By  Walter  Smith,  Del  Rio,  Texas 

It  made  me  feel  twenty-five  years  younger  to  attend  the 
reunion  of  the  Old  Trail  Drivers  in  San  Antonio,  for  I met  so 
many  of  my  old  boyhood  friends,  many  of  them  I had  not 
seen  in  forty-five  years,  boys  that  I had  been  associated  with 
during  the  early  days  of  the  frontier. 

I was  born  at  Corpus  Christi,  May  8th,  1856,  and  moved 
to  San  Antonio  when  I was  six  years  old.  Went  to  school  at 
the  old  Free  School  house  which  stood  on  Houston  street  in 
that  city.  San  Antonio  was  then  only  a small  adobe  town.  In 
1869  I landed  in  Uvalde  in  an  ox-wagon  owned  by  Bill  Lewis 
of  the  Nueces  Canyon.  There  were  only  six  ranches  in  the 
canyon  at  that  time,  but  lots  of  Indians  were  there  to  harrass 
the  few  settlers.  We  had  many  narrow  escapes,  but  we  were 
a happy  and  seemingly  contented  people.  I have  lived  on  the 
western  frontier  ever  since  I reached  manhood,  and  have  had 
many  thrilling  experiences  and  hard  trials,  but  have  lived 
through  all  down  to  this  day  of  the  high  cost  of  everything, 
We  lived  then  on  the  fat  of  the  land,  and  that  was  not  a 
luxury.  Our  food  was  plain,  but  wholesome,  and  if  the  people 
of  today  would  be  content  with  the  table  comforts  we  had  in 
those  days,  the  doctors’  signs  would  soon  disappear. 

I went  up  the  trail  six  different  times,  the  last  herd  being 
driven  from  Uvalde  county  in  1882  for  the  Western  Union 
Beef  Co.  to  the  South  Platte  River,  Colorado.  I have  had  so 
many  ups  and  downs  that  if  I were  to  undertake  to  tell  all  of 
them  it  would  more  than  fill  this  volume. 

Was  married  at  Uvalde,  Texas,  May  8th,  1879,  to  Sarah 
A.  Fulgham,  and  we  have  had  eleven  children,  eight  of  whom 
are  still  living. 


PARENTS  SETTLED  IN  THE  REPUBLIC  OF  TEXAS 

By  Joseph  S.  Cruze,  Sr.,  San  Antonio,  Texas 

My  parents,  William  and  Isabella  Cruze  came  to  the  Republic 
of  Texas  in  1840  and  located  on  the  Brazos  River  in  Washing- 


46 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


ton  county.  There  I was  born  July  27th,  1845,  and  when  I 
was  three  months  old  father  placed  a buffalo  hair  pillow  on 
the  horn  of  his  saddle,  placed  me  thereon,  mounted  his  horse 
and  was  ready  to  immigrate  west  with  his  family.  He  settled 
on  Onion  Creek,  nine  miles  south  of  Austin,  near  the  Colorado 
River,  where  he  remained  for  several  years.  Then  in  1854 
we  moved  to  the  central  part  of  Hays  county,  where  father 
died  in  1856. 

I enlisted  in  the  Confederate  Army  in  1862,  received  my 
discharge  in  1865,  and  returned  home  to  my  widowed  mother. 
On  July  24th,  1865,  I was  married  to  Miss  Mary  Kate  Cox  of 
Hays  county. 

In  the  years  1870  and  1871  I drove  cattle  to  Kansas  over 
the  old  Chisholm  Trail.  1 remember  the  killing  of  Pete  Owens, 
who  was  with  the  same  herd  I was  with.  We  had  reached  the 
Cross  Timbers  of  Texas,  and  passed  a ranch  where  booze  was 
sold.  There  was  a row  and  Pete  was  shot  and  killed.  He  was 
a good  friend  to  me,  we  had  been  soldier  comrades  for  nearly 
three  years,  worked  cattle  together,  and  I loved  him  as  a 
brother.  Billie  Owens,  known  to  many  of  the  old  trail  drivers 
was  his  brother.  The  Owens  boys  were  good  soldiers,  upright, 
honest  and  brave  men. 

In  those  days  the  cowmen  underwent  many  hardships,  sur- 
vived many  hair-breadth  escapes  and  dangers  while  blazing 
our  way  through  the  wilderness.  My  comrades  yet  living  have 
not  forgotten  what  we  had  to  endure.  Everything  was  then 
tough,  wild  and  woolly,  and  it  was  dangerous  to  be  safe. 

In  September,  1866,  1 settled  on  Loneman  Creek,  in  Hays 
county,  near  the  Blanco  River,  and  established  the  Cruze 
Ranch,  which  I sold  to  my  son,  S.  J.  Cruze,  in  1917,  and 
moved  to  San  Antonio  with  my  wife  and  two  daughters, 
Margaret  and  Addie,  and  my  grandson,  Forest  Harlan.  1 have 
a nice  little  home  in  Los  Angeles  Heights,  and  would  be  glad 
to  hear  from  any  of  my  old  friends  at  any  time. 

My  address  is  Route  10,  Box  101  a,  Los  Angeles  Heights, 
San  Antonio. 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


47 


SEVEN  TRIPS  UP  THE  TRAIL 

By  J.  F.  Ellison,  Fort  Cobb,  Okla. 

My  first  trip  up  the  trail  was  in  the  year  1869,  over  the  old 
Fort  Arbuckle  Trail.  1 made  seven  trips  in  all.  In  1876  I 
worked  for  Ellison,  Dewees,  Willett  and  Maberry,  and  was  on 
the  trail  for  six  months.  These  men  drove  out  that  year  fully 
one  hundred  thousand  cattle.  We  had  our  hardships,  boys, 
but  when  we  look  back  and  reflect  over  those  good  old  times 
spent  in  each  other’s  company,  and  compare  those  old  days  to 
the  present  time,  we  conclude  that  we  had  our  share  of  the 
good  things  of  life  and  played  well  our  part  in  the  develop- 
ment and  transformation  of  a wild  country  into  one  of  peace, 
plenty  and  prosperity.  There  are  hundreds  of  the  old  boys  yet 
living  that  we  knew  in  the  trail  days,  and  to  all  of  them  I 
send  greetings  and  good  wishes. 


DROVE  A HERD  OVER  THE  TRAIL  TO  CALIFORNIA 

By  W.  E.  Cureton,  of  Meridian,  Texas 

1 was  born  in  the  Ozark  mountains  of  Arkansas,  in  1848; 
came  to  Texas  with  my  father,  Captain  Jack  Cureton,  in  the 
winter  of  1854-55;  settled  on  or  near  the  Brazos  River  below 
old  Fort  Belknap  in  what  is  now  Palo  Pinto  county,  and  began 
raising  cattle.  The  county  was  organized  in  1857. 

In  1867  we  (my  father  and  John  C.  Cureton)  drove  a herd 
of  grown  steers  from  Jim  Ned,  a tributary  of  the  Colorado  of 
Texas,  now  in  Coleman  county,  up  the  Concho  at  a time  when 
the  Coffees  and  Tankersleys  were  the  only  inhabitants  there. 
That  year  the  government  began  the  building  of  Fort  Concho, 
which  is  now  a part  of  the  thrifty  little  city  of  San  Angelo. 
The  Indians  killed  a Dutchman  and  scalped  and  partly  skinned 
him  a little  ahead  of  us,  and  Captain  Snively,  with  a gold 
hunting  outfit,  had  quite  a skirmish  along  the  Concho  with 
them. 

From  the  headwaters  on  the  Concho  we  made  a ninety-six 
mile  drive  to  Horsehead  Crossing  on  the  Pecos  River  without 
giving  the  cattle  a good  watering.  Our  trail  was  the  old  mili- 


48 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


tary  stage  route  used  by  the  government  before  the  Civil  War. 
The  Indians  had  killed  a man  and  wounded  a woman  ahead 
of  us  at  the  old  adobe  walls  at  Horsehead  Crossing  on  the 
Pecos,  and  captured  a herd  of  cattle  belonging  to  John  Gamel 
and  Isaac  W.  Cox  of  Mason,  Texas.  A few  miles  above 
Horsehead  Crossing  the  Indians  stole  eleven  head  of  our  horses 
one  night;  only  having  two  horses  to  the  man,  we  felt  the  loss 
of  half  our  mounts  very  severely.  A little  further  up  the 
river  the  Indians  wounded  Uncle  Oliver  Loving,  the  father 
of  J.  C.  and  George  B.  of  the  noted  Loving  fomily  of 
the  upper  Brazos  country  and  the  founder  of  the  great  Texas 
Cattle  Raisers’  Association.  The  old  man  died  at  Fort 
Sumner  of  his  wounds.  They  also  killed  Billy  Corely,  one 
of  Lynch  & Cooper’s  men,  from  Shackleford  county,  the 
same  drive. 

We  left  the  Pecos  near  where  now  stands  the  town  of  Ros- 
well, and  traveled  up  the  Hondo  out  by  Fort  Stanton  over  the 
divide  to  San  Augustine  Springs,  near  the  Rio  Grande,  and 
wintered  the  cattle  and  sold  them  in  the  spring  of  1868  to 
Hinds  & Hooker,  .who  were  the  United  States  contractors  to 
feed  the  soldiers  and  Indians,  as  they  were  pretending  to  sub- 
due and  keep  the  Indians  on  reservations  but  in  reality  were 
equipping  them  so  they  could  depredate  more  efficiently  on 
the  drovers  and  emigrants. 

In  the  summer  of  1869  I sold  a bunch  of  grown  steers  in 
Palo  Pinto  County,  Texas,  to  Doctor  D.  B.  Warren  of  Missouri, 
and  we  trailed  them  to  Baxter  Springs,  Kansas.  We  swam  Red 
River  at  the  old  Preston  ferry.  We  camped  near  the  river  the 
night  before  and  tried  to  cross  early  in  the  morning.  The 
river  was  very  full  of  muddy  water,  and  the  cattle  refused  to 
take  the  water.  After  all  hands  had  about  exhausted  them- 
selves Doctor  Warren,  who  was  his  own  boss,  said  to  me, 
“William,  what  will  we  do  about  it?  ” I answered  him  that  we 
had  better  back  out  and  graze  the  cattle  until  the  sun  got  up 
so  they  could  see  the  other  bank,  and  they  would  want  water 
and  go  across.  “You  should  know  that  you  can’t  swim 
cattle  across  as  big  a stream  as  this  going  east  in  the  morning 
or  going  west  late  of  an  evening  with  the  sun  in  their  faces.’’ 
Aoout  one  p.m.  we  put  them  back  on  the  trail  and  by  the  time 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


49 


the  drags  got  near  the  river  the  leaders  were  climbing  the 
east  bank.  The  doctor  looked  at  me  and  said,  “Well,  I’ll  be 
damned — every  man  to  his  profession.” 

In  the  spring  of  1870  my  father  took  his  family  along,  and 
turned  over  more  than  eleven  hundred  cattle  to  us  boys,  John 
C.  and  J.  W.,  to  drive  to  California.  We  went  out  over  the 
old  Concho  trail  to  the  Dio  Pecos,  up  that  river  to  the  Hondo 
out  by  the  Gallina  Mountains,  crossing  the  Rio  Grande 
at  Old  Albuquerque,  over  to  and  down  the  Little  Colorado  of 
the  West;  through  New  Mexico  into  Arizona,  by  where  Flag- 
staff is  now;  on  the  Santa  Fe  Railroad,  parallel  to  the  Grand 
Canyon  on  the  south  side  of  the  Colorado;  crossed  the  Colo- 
rado at  Hardyville  above  the  Needles;  crossed  over  the  Califor- 
nia desert;  climbed  over  the  Sierra  Nevada  Mountains  and 
wintered  the  cattle  between  San  Bernardino  and  Los  Angeles 
in  California,  a fifteen-hundred  mile  drive.  In  the  spring  of 
1871  we  drove  the  cattle  back  across  the  Sierras,  north  up  the 
east  side  of  the  mountains  to  the  head  of  Owens  River,  where 
we  fattened  them  on  the  luxurious  California  meadows;  then 
drove  them  to  Reno,  Nevada,  five  hundred  miles  from  our 
wintering  grounds,  and  sold  them,  and  Miller  & Lux,  the 
millionaire  butchers  of  San  Francisco,  shipped  them  to  their 
slaughtering  plant  in  San  Francisco,  California — and,  by  the 
way,  the  firm  still  controls  the  California  market  there.  We 
paid  ten  dollars  for  grown  steers  in  Texas;  got  thirty  dollars 
after  driving  them  two  thousand  miles  and  consuming  two 
years  on  the  trip.  After  all,  I honor  the  old  long  horn;  he 
was  able  to  furnish  hi's  own  transportation  to  all  the  markets 
before  the  advent  of  railroads. 

I made  many  other  trips,  but  think  these  will  give  a fair 
idea  of  the  hardships  of  the  pioneers. 

I had  been  interested  in  cattle  raising  for  sixty  years,  ranch- 
ing in  Texas,  New  Mexico,  Arizona  and  California  during  that 
time,  but  always  claimed  Texas  as  home;  was  a school  boy 
with  the  late  Colonel  C.  C.  Slaughter  of  Dallas  and  George  T. 
Reynolds  of  Fort  Worth  more  than  sixty  years  ago. 


50 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


COMING  UP  THE  TRAIL  IN  1882 

By  Jack  Potter,  of  Kenton,  Oklahoma 

In  the  spring  of  1882,  the  New  England  Livestock  Co. 
bought  three  thousand  short  horns  in  Southwest  Texas,  cut 
them  into  four  herds  and  started  them  on  the  trail  to  Colorado, 
with  King  Hennant  of  Corpus  Christi  in  charge  of  the  first 
herd,  Asa  Clark  of  Legarta  the  second  herd,  Billie  Burke  the 
third  herd,  and  John  Smith  of  San  Antonio  in  charge  of  the 
fourth.  When  they  reached  a point  near  San  Antonio  Smith 
asked  me  to  go  with  the  herd  at  $30  a month  and  transporta- 
tion back.  Now,  friends,  it  will  not  take  long  to  tell  my 
experiences  going  up  the  trail,  but  it  will  require  several  pages 
to  recount  what  1 had  to  endure  coming  back  home. 

There  was  no  excitement  whatever  on  this  drive.  It  was 
to  me  very  much  like  a summer’s  outing  in  the  Rocky  Moun- 
tains. We  went  out  by  way  of  Fredericksburg,  Mason  and 
Brady  City,  and  entered  the  Western  trail  at  Cow  Gap,  going 
through  Albany  near  Fort  Griffin,  where  we  left  the  Western 
trail  and  selected  a route  through  to  Trinidad,  Colorado,  via 
Double  Mountain  Fork  of  the  Brazos,  Wichita  and  Pease  Rivers 
to  the  Charles  Goodnight  ranch  on  the  Staked  Plains,  We 
had  several  stampedes  while  crossing  the  plains. 

En  route  we  saw  thousands  of  antelope  crossing  the  trail 
in  front  of  the  herd.  We  crossed  the  Canadian  at  Tuscosa. 
This  was  a typical  cowboy  town,  and  at  this  time  a general 
roundup  was  in  progress  and  I believe  there  were  a hundred 
and  fifty  cow-punchers  in  the  place.  They  had  taken  a day 
off  to  celebrate,  and  as  there  were  only  seven  saloons  in 
Tuscosa  they  were  all  doing  a flourishing  business.  We  had 
trouble  in  crossing  the  river  with  our  herd,  as  those  fellows 
were  riding  up  and  down  the  streets  yelling  and  shooting. 

Our  next  point  was  over  the  Dim  Trail  and  freight  road 
to  Trinidad,  Colorado,  where  we  arrived  the  tenth  of  July. 
Here  the  manager  met  us  and  relieved  two  of  the  outfits, 
saying  the  country  up  to  the  South  Platte  was  easy  driving 
and  that  they  would  drift  the  horses  along  with  two  outfits 
instead  of  four.  The  manager  and  King  Hennant  made  some 
medicine  and  called  for  the  entire  crews  of  John  Smith  and 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


51 


Asa  Clark,  apd  told  Billie  Burke  to  turn  his  crew  over  to 
Hennant  who  was  to  take  charge  of  the  whole  drive.  I was 
disappointed  for  I did  not  want  to  spoil  the  summer  with  a 
two  months’  drive.  They  called  the  men  up  one  at  a time 
and  gave  them  their  checks.  However,  King  Hennant  arranged 
with  the  manager  for  me  to  remain  with  them,  and  then  it 
was  agreed  to  send  me  with  some  of  the  cow  ponies  to  the 
company’s  cattle  ranch  in  the  Big  Horn  basin  later  on. 

The  drive  up  the  South  Platte  was  fine.  We  traveled  for 
three  hundred  miles  along  the  foothills  of  the  Rockies,  where 
we  were  never  out  of  sight  of  the  snowy  ranges.  We  went 
out  by  way  of  La  Junta,  Colorado,  on  the  Santa  Fe  and  then 
to  Deer  Trail.  We  would  throw  our  two  herds  together  at 
night  and  the  next  morning  again  cut  them  into  two  herds  for 
the  trail.  We  arrived  at  the  South  Platte  River  near  Greeley, 
Colorado,  about  the  tenth  of  August. 

The  itch  or  ronia  had  broken  out  on  the  trail  and  in  those 
days  people  did  not  know  how  to  treat  it  successfully.  Our 
manager  sent  us  a wagon  load  of  kerosene  and  sulphur  with 
which  to  fight  the  disease. 

When  we  reached  Crow  Creek  we  turned  the  herds  loose 
and  began  building  what  is  known  as  the  Crow  Ranch.  I 
worked  here  thirty  days  and  it  seemed  like  thirty  years.  One 
day  the  manager  came  out  and  gave  instructions  to  shape 
up  a herd  of  one  hundred  and  fifty  select  cow  ponies  to  be 
taken  to  the  Big  Horn  Ranch,  and  1 was  chosen  to  go  with  the 
outfit.  This  was  the  first  time  I had  seen  an  outfit  fixed  up  in 
the  north.  I supposed  we  would  get  a pack  horse  and  fit  up 
a little  outfit  and  two  of  us  hike  out  with  them.  It  required 
two  days  to  get  started.  The  outfit  consisted  of  a wagon 
loaded  with  chuck,  a big  wall  tent,  cots  to  sleep  on,  a stove, 
and  a number  one  cook.  We  hit  the  trail,  and  it  was  another 
outing  for  me,  for  this  time  we  were  traveling  in  new  fields. 

After  leaving  Cheyenne  we  pulled  out  for  Powder  River  and 
then  up  to  Sheridan.  The  weather  was  getting  cold  and  1 
began  to  get  homesick.  When  we  reached  the  Indian  country 
I was  told  that  it  was  only  one  days’  drive  to  Custer’s  battle- 
ground. I was  agreeably  surprised  the  next  morning  as  we 
came  down  a long  slope  into  the  Little  Big  Horn  Valley  to  the 


52 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


battleground.  I was  under  the  impression  that  Sitting  Bull 
had  hemmed  Custer  up  in  a box  canyon  and  came  up  from 
behind  and  massacred  his  entire  army.  But  that  was  a mistake, 
as  Sitting  Bull  with  his  warriors  was  camped  in  the  beautiful 
valley  when  Custer  attacked  him  in  the  open.  It  seems  that 
the  Indians  retreated  slowly  up  a gradual  slope  to  the  east  and 
Custer’s  men  followed.  The  main  fight  took  place  at  the  top 
of  the  rise,  as  there  is  a headstone  where  every  soldier  fell, 
and  a monument  where  Custer  was  killed. 

The  balance  of  that  day  we  passed  thousands  of  Indians 
who  were  going  the  same  direction  we  were  traveling.  When 
they  go  to  the  agency  to  get  their  monthly  allowance  they 
take  along  everything  with  them,  each  family  driving  their 
horses  in  a separate  bunch.  When  we  arrived  at  the  Crow 
agency  the  boss  received  a letter  from  the  manager  instructing 
him  to  send  me  back  to  Texas  as  the  company  were  contracting 
for  cattle  for  spring  delivery,  and  I would  be  needed  in  the 
trail  drives.  The  next  morning  I roped  my  favorite  horse, 
and  said  to  the  boys:  “Goodbye,  fellows,  I am  drifting  south 
where  the  climate  suits  my  clothes.”  That  day  I overtook  an 
outfit  on  the  way  to  Ogallala,  and  traveled  with  them  several 
days,  and  then  cut  out  from  them  and  hiked  across  the  prairie 
one  hundred  and  fifty  miles  to  the  Crow  ranch,  where  I sold 
my  two  horses,  and  hired  a party  to  take  me  and  my  saddle 
to  Greeley,  where  I expected  to  set  out  for  home. 

Coming  Off  the  Trail 

Now,  reader,  here  I was,  a boy  not  yet  seventeen  years 
old,  two  thousand  miles  from  home.  1 had  never  been  on  a 
railroad  train,  had  never  slept  in  a hotel,  never  taken  a bath 
in  a bath  house,  and  from  babyhood  I had  heard  terrible 
stories  about  ticket  thieves,  money-changers,  pickpockets, 
three-card  monte,  and  other  robbing  schemes,  and  I had  horrors 
about  this  my  first  railroad  trip.  The  first  thing  I did  was 
to  make  my  money  safe  by  tying  it  up  in  my  shirt  tail.  I had 
a draft  for  $150  and  some  currency.  1 purchased  a second- 
hand trunk  and  about  two  hundred  feet  of  rope  with  which 
to  tie  it.  The  contents  of  the  trunk  were  one  apple-horn 
saddle,  a pair  of  chaps,  a Colt’s  45,  one  sugan,  a hen-skin 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


53 


blanket,  and  a change  of  dirty  clothes.  You  will  see  later 
that  this  trunk  and  its  contents  caused  me  no  end  of  trouble. 

My  cowboy  friends  kindly  assisted  me  in  getting  ready  for 
the  journey.  The  company  had  agreed  to  provide  me  with 
transportation,  and  they  purchased  a local  ticket  to  Denver 
for  me  and  gave  me  a letter  to  deliver  to  the  general  ticket 
agent  at  this  point,  instructing  him  to  sell  me  a reduced  ticket 
to  Dodge  City,  Kansas,  and  enable  me  to  secure  a cowboy 
ticket  from  there  to  San  Antonio  for  twenty-five  dollars. 
Dodge  City  was  the  largest  delivering  point  in  the  northwest, 
and  by  the  combined  efforts  of  several  prominent  stockmen 
a cheap  rate  to  San  Antonio  had  been  perfected  for  the  con- 
venience of  the  hundreds  of  cowboys  returning  home  after 
the  drives. 

About  four  p.  m.  the  Union  Pacific  train  came  pulling  into 
Greeley.  Then  it  was  a hasty  handshake  with  the  boys,  one 
of  them  handed  me  my  trunk  check,  saying,  “Your  baggage 
is  loaded.  Goodbye,  write  me  when  you  get  home,”  and  the 
train  pulled  out.  It  took  several  minutes  for  me  to  collect 
myself,  and  then  the  conductor  came  through  and  called 
for  the  tickets.  When  1 handed  him  my  ticket  he  punched 
a hole  in  it,  and  then  pulled  out  a red  slip,  punched  it  too 
and  slipped  it  into  my  hat  band.  I jumped  to  my  feet  and 
said,  “You  can’t  come  that  on  me.  Give  me  back  my  ticket,” 
but  he  passed  out  of  hearing,  and  as  1 had  not  yet  learned  how 
to  walk  on  a moving  train  I could  not  follow  him.  When  I 
had  become  fairly  settled  in  my  seat  again  the  train  crossed 
a bridge,  and  as  it  went  by  I thought  the  thing  was  going  to 
hit  me  on  the  head.  I dodged  those  bridges  all  the  way  up  to 
Denver.  When  I reached  there  I got  off  at  the  Union  Station 
and  walked  down  to  the  baggage  car,  and  saw  them  unloading 
my  trunk.  1 stepped  up  and  said;  “I  will  take  my  trunk.”  A 
man  said,  “No;  we  are  handling  this  baggage.”  “But,”  said  I 
“that  is  my  trunk,  and  has  my  saddle  and  gun  in  it.”  They 
paid  no  attention  to  me  and  wheeled  the  trunk  off  to  the 
baggage  room,  but  I followed  right  along,  determined  that 
they  were  not  going  to  put  anything  over  me.  Seeing  that  I 
was  so  insistent  one  of  the  men  asked  me  for  my  check.  It 
was  wrapped  up  in  my  shirt  tail,  and  I went  after  it,  and  pro- 


54 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


duced  the  draft  I had  been  given  as  wages.  He  looked  at  it 
and  said,  “This  is  not  your  trunk  check.  Where  is  your 
metal  check  with  numbers  on  it?”  Then  it  began  to  dawn 
on  me  what  the  darn  thing  was,  and  when  I produced  it  and 
handed  it  to  him,  he  asked  me  where  I was  going.  I told 
him  to  San  Antonio,  Texas,  if  I could  get  there.  1 then  showed 
him  my  letter  to  the  general  ticket  agent,  and  he  said:  “Now, 
boy,  you  leave  this  trunk  right  here  and  we  will  recheck  it 
and  you  need  not  bother  about  it.”  That  sounded  bully  to  me. 

I followed  the  crowd  down  Sixteenth  and  Curtiss  Streets 
and  rambled  around  looking  for  a quiet  place  to  stop.  1 found 
the  St.  Charles  Hotel  and  made  arrangements  to  stay  all  night. 
Then  I went  off  to  a barber  shop  to  get  my  hair  cut  and 
clean  up  a bit.  When  the  barber  finished  with  me  he  asked 
if  1 wanted  a bath,  and  when  I said  yes,  a negro  porter  took 
me  down  the  hallway  and  into  a side  room.  He  turned  on 
the  water,  tossed  me  a couple  of  towels  and  disappeared.  I 
commenced  undressing  hurriedly,  fearing  the  tub  would  fill  up 
before  I could  get  ready.  The  water  was  within  a few  inches 
of  the  top  of  the  tub  when  I plunged  in.  Then  I gave  a yell 
like  a Comanche  Indian,  for  the  water  was  boiling  hot!  I 
came  out  of  the  tub  on  all  fours,  but  when  I landed  on  the 
marble  floor  it  was  so  slick  that  I slipped  and  fell  backwards 
with  my  head  down.  I scrambled  around  promiscuously,  and 
finally  got  my  footing  with  a chair  for  a brace.  1 thought: 
“Jack  Potter,  you  are  scalded  after  the  fashion  of  a hog.” 
I caught  a lock  of  my  hair  to  see  if  it  would  “slip,”  at  the 
same  time  fanning  myself  with  my  big  Stetson  hat.  I next 
examined  my  toe  nails,  for  they  had  received  a little  more 
dipping  than  my  hair,  but  I found  them  in  fairly  good  shape, 
turning  a bit  dark,  but  still  hanging  on. 

That  night  I went  to  the  Tabor  Opera  House  and  saw  a 
fine  play.  There  I found  a cowboy  chum,  and  we  took  in 
the  sights  until  midnight  when  I returned  to  the  St.  Charles. 
The  porter  showed  me  up  to  my  room  and  turned  on  the 
gas.  When  he  had  gone  I undressed  to  go  to  bed,  and  stepped 
up  to  blow  out  the  light.  I blew  and  blew  until  I was  out  of 
breath,  and  then  tried  to  fan  the  flame  ouf  with  my  hat,  but 
I had  to  go  to  bed  and  leave  the  gas  burning.  It  was  fortunate 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


55 


that  I did  not  succeed,  for  at  that  time  the  papers  were  full 
of  accounts  of  people  gassed  just  that  way. 

The  next  morning  I started  out  to  find  the  Santa  Fe  ticket 
office,  where  I presented  my  letter  to  the  head  man  there. 
He  was  a nice  appearing  gentleman,  and  when  he  had  looked 
over  the  letter,  he  said,  “So  you  are  a genuine  cowboy? 
Where  is  your  gun  and  how  many  notches  have  you  on  its 
handle?  I suppose  you  carry  plenty  of  salt  with  you  on  the 
trail  for  emergency?  I was  just  reading  in  a magazine  a few 
days  ago  about  a large  herd  which  stampeded  and  one  of 
the  punchers  mounted  a swift  horse  and  ran  up  in  front  of 
the  leaders  and  began  throwing  out  salt,  and  stopped  the  herd 
just  in  time  to  keep  them  from  running  off  a high  precipice.” 
1 laughed  heartily  when  he  told  me  this  and  said,  “My  friend, 
you  can’t  learn  the  cow  business  out  of  books.  That  yarn 
was  hatched  in  the  brain  of  some  fiction  writer  who  probably 
never  saw  a cow  in  his  life.  But  I am  pleased  to  find  a railroad 
man  who  will  talk,  for  I always  heard  that  a railroad  man 
only  used  two  words,  Yes  and  No.”  Then  we  had  quite  a 
pleasant  conversation.  He  asked  me  if  I was  ever  in  Albert’s 
Buckhorn  saloon  in  San  Antonio  and  saw  the  collection  of 
fine  horns  there.  Then  he  gave  me  an  emigrant  cowboy 
ticket  to  Dodge  City  and  a letter  to  the  agent  at  that  place 
stating  that  I was  eligible  for  a cowboy  ticket  to  San  Antonio. 

As  it  was  near  train  time  I hunted  up  the  baggage  crew 
and  told  them  I was  ready  to  make  another  start.  1 showed 
them  my  ticket  and  asked  them  about  my  trunk.  They 
examined  it,  put  on  a new  check,  and  gave  me  one  with  several 
numbers  on  it.  I wanted  to  take  the  trunk  out  and  put  it  on 
the  train,  but  they  told  me  to  rest  easy  and  they  would  put  it 
on.  I stood  right  there  until  I saw  them  put  it  on  the  train, 
then  I climbed  aboard. 

This  being  my  second  day  out  I thought  my  troubles  should 
be  over,  but  not  so,  for  1 couldn’t  face  those  bridges.  They 
kept  me  dodging  and  fighting  my  head.  An  old  gentleman 

who  sat  near  me  said,  “Young  man,  I see  by  your  dress  that 

you  are  a typical  cowboy,  and  no  doubt  you  can  master  the 

worst  bronco  or  rope  and  tie  a steer  in  less  than  a minute, 

but  in  riding  on  a railway  train  you  seem  to  be  a novice.  Sit 


56 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


down  on  this  seat  with  your  back  to  the  front  and  those  bridges 
will  not  bother  you.”  And  sure  enough  it  was  just  as  he  said. 

We  arrived  at  Coolidge,  Kansas,  one  of  the  old  landmarks 
of  the  Santa  Fe  trail  days,  about  dark.  That  night  at  12 
o’clock  we  reached  Dodge  City,  where  I had  to  lay  over  for 
twenty-four  hours.  I thought  everything  would  be  quiet  in 
the  town  at  that  hour  of  the  night,  but  I soon  found  out  that 
they  never  slept  in  Dodge.  They  had  a big  dance  hall  there 
which  was  to  Dodge  City  what  Jack  Harris’  Theatre  was  to 
San  Antonio.  I arrived  at  the  hall  in  time  to  see  a gambler 
and  a cowboy  mix  up  in  a sixshooter  duel.  Lots  of  smoke, 
a stampede,  but  no  one  killed.  I secured  a room  and  retired. 
When  morning  came  I arose  and  fared  forth  to  see  Dodge  City 
by  daylight.  It  seemed  to  me  that  the  town  was  full  of  cow- 
boys and  cattle  owners.  The  first  acquaintance  1 met  here  was 
George  W.  Saunders,  now  the  president  and  chief  remudero 
of  the  Old  Trail  Drivers’.  I also  found  Jess  Pressnall  and 
Slim  Johnson  there,  as  well  as  several  others  whom  I knew 
down  in  Texas.  Pressnall  said  to  me:  “Jack,  you  will  have 
lots  of  company  on  your  way  home.  Old  “Dog  Face” 
Smith  is  up  here  from  Cotulla  and  he  and  his  whole  bunch 
are  going  back  tonight.  Old  “Dog  Face”  is  one  of  the 
best  trail  men  that  ever  drove  a cow,  but  he  is  all  worked 
up  about  having  to  go  back  on  a train.  I wish  you  would 
help  them  along  down  the  line  in  changing  cars.”  That 
afternoon  I saw  a couple  of  chuck  wagons  coming  in 
loaded  with  punchers,  who  had  on  the  same  clothing 
they  wore  on  the  trail,  their  pants  stuck  in  their  boots, 
and  their  spurs  on.  They  were  bound  for  San  Antonio. 
Old  “Dog  Face”  Smith  was  a typical  Texan,  about  thirty 
years  of  age,  with  long  hair  and  three  months’  growth 
of  whiskers.  He  wore  a blue  shirt  and  a red  cotton  handker- 
chief around  his  neck.  He  had  a bright  intelligent  face  that 
bore  the  appearance  of  a good  trail  hound,  which  no  doubt 
was  the  cause  of  people  calling  him  “Dog  Face.” 

It  seemed  a long  time  that  night  to  wait  for  the  train  and 
we  put  in  the  time  visiting  every  saloon  in  the  town.  There 
was  a big  stud  poker  game  going  on  in  one  place,  and  I saw 
one  Texas  fellow,  whose  name  I will  not  mention,  lose  a herd 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


57 


of  cattle  at  the  game.  But  he  might  have  won  the  herd  back 
before  daylight. 

1 will  never  forget  seeing  that  train  come  into  Dodge  City 
that  night.  Old  “Dog  Face”  and  his  bunch  were  pretty  bad- 
ly frightened  and  we  had  considerable  difficulty  in  getting 
them  aboard.  It  was  about  12:30  when  the  train  pulled  out. 
The  conductor  came  around  and  I gave  him  my  cowboy 
ticket.  It  was  almost  as  long  as  your  arm,  and  as  he  tore  off 
a chunk  of  it  1 said:  “What  authority  have  you  to  tear  up  a 
man’s  ticket?”  He  laughed  and  said,  “You  are  on  my  di- 
vision. I simply  tore  off  one  coupon  and  each  conductor  be- 
tween here  and  San  Antonio  will  tear  off  one  for  each  di- 
vision.” That  sounded  all  right,  but  I wondered  if  that  ticket 
would  hold  out  all  the  way  down. 

Every  one  seemed  to  be  tired  and  worn  out  and  the  bunch 
began  bedding  down.  Old  “Dog  Face”  was  out  of  humor, 
and  v/as  the  last  one  to  bed  down.  At  about  three  o’clock 
our  train  was  sidetracked  to  let  the  west-bound  train  pass. 
This  little  stop  caused  the  boys  to  sleep  the  sounder.  Just 
then  the  west  bound  train  sped  by  traveling  at  the  rate  of 
about  forty  miles  an  hour,  and  just  as  it  passed  our  coach 
the  engineer  blew  the  whistle.  Talk  about  your  stampedes! 
That  bunch  of  sleeping  cowboys  arose  as  one  man,  and  started 
on  the  run  with  Old  “Dog  Face”  Smith  in  the  lead.  I was  a 
little  slow  in  getting  off  but  fell  in  with  the  drags.  I had  not 
yet  woke  up,  but  thinking  I was  in  a genuine  cattle  stampede, 
yelled  out,  “Circle  your  leaders  and  keep  up  the  drags.”  Just 
then  the  leaders  circled  and  ran  into  the  drags,  knocking  some 
of  us  down.  They  circled  again  and  the  news  butcher  crawled 
out  from  under  foot  and  jumped  through  the  window  like  a 
frog.  Before  they  could  circle  back  the  next  time,  the  train 
crew  pushed  in  the  door  and  caught  Old  “Dog  Face,”  and 
soon  the  bunch  quieted  down.  The  conductor  was  pretty 
angry  and  threatened  to  have  us  transferred  to  the  freight 
department  and  loaded  into  a stock  car. 

We  had  breakfast  at  Hutchinson,  and  after  eating  and 
were  again  on  our  way,  speeding  through  the  beautiful  farms 
and  thriving  towns  of  Kansas,  we  organized  a kangaroo  court 
and  tried  the  engineer  of  that  west  bound  train  for  disturbing 


58 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


the  peace  of  passengers  on  the  east  bound  train.  We  heard 
testimony  all  morning,  and  called  in  some  of  the  train  crew 
to  testify.  One  of  the  brakemen  said  it  was  an  old  trick  for 
that  engineer  to  blow  the  whistle  at  that  particular  siding  and 
that  he  was  undoubtedly  the  cause  of  a great  many  stampeler. 
The  jury  brought  in  a verdict  of  guilty,  and  assessed  the  death 
penalty.  It  was  ordered  that  he  be  captured,  taken  to  some 
place  on  the  western  trail,  there  to  be  hog-tied  like  a steer, 
and  then  have  the  road  brand  applied  with  a good  hot  iron 
and  a herd  of  not  less  than  five  thousand  long-horn  Texas 
steers  made  to  stampede  and  trample  him  to  death. 

We  had  several  hours  lay-over  at  Emporia,  Kansas,  where 
we  took  the  M.  K.  & T.  for  Parsons,  getting  on  the  main  line 
through  Indian  Territory  to  Denison,  Texas.  There  was  a 
large  crowd  of  punchers  on  the  through  train  who  were  re- 
turning from  Ogallala  by  way  of  Kansas  City  and  Omaha. 

As  we  were  traveling  through  the  Territory  Old  “Dog 
Face”  said  to  me:  “Potter,  I expect  it  was  me  that  started 

that  stampede  up  there  in  Kansas,  but  1 just  couldn’t  help  it. 
You  see  I took  on  a scare  once  and  since  that  time  I have  been 
on  the  hair  trigger  when  suddenly  awakened.  In  the  year 
1875  me  and  Wild  Horse  Jerry  were  camped  at  a water  hole 
out  west  of  the  Nueces  River,  where  we  were  snaring  mus- 
tangs. One  evening  a couple  of  peloncias  pitched  camp  near 
by,  and  the  next  morning  our  remuda  was  missing,  all  except 
our  night  horses.  I told  Wild  Horse  Jerry  to  hold  down  the 
camp  and  watch  the  snares,  and  I hit  the  trail  of  those  peloncias 
which  headed  for  the  Rio  Grande.  I followed  it  for  about 
forty  miles  and  then  lost  all  signs.  It  was  nightfall,  so  1 made 
camp,  prepared  supper  and  rolled  up  in  my  blanket  and  went 
to  sleep.  I don’t  know  how  long  I slept,  but  I was  awakened 
by  a low  voice  saying:  “Dejarle  desconsar  bien  por  que  en 

un  rato  el  va  a comenzar  su  viaje  por  el  otro  mundo.”  (Let 
him  rest  well,  as  he  will  soon  start  on  his  journey  to  the  other 
world.)  It  was  the  two  Mexican  horse  thieves  huddled 
around  my  camp  fire  smoking  their  cigarettes  and  taking  it 
easy,  as  they  thought  they  had  the  drop  on  me.  As  I came 
out  of  my  bed  two  bullets  whizzed  near  my  head,  but  about  that 
time  my  old  Colt’s  forty-five  began  talking,  and  the  janitor 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


59 


down  in  Hades  had  two  more  peloncias  on  his  hands.  Ever 
since  that  night,  if  I am  awakened  suddenly  I generally  come 
out  on  my  all  fours  roaring  like  a buffalo  bull.  I never  sleep 
on  a bedstead  for  it  would  not  be  safe  for  me  as  I might 
break  my  darn  neck,  so  I always  spread  down  on  the  floor.” 
It  was  a long  ride  through  the  Territory,  and  we  spent  the 
balance  of  the  day  singing  songs  and  making  merry.  I kept 
thinking  about  my  trunk,  and  felt  grateful  that  the  railroad 
people  had  sent  along  a messenger  to  look  out  for  it.  At 
Denison  we  met  up  with  some  emigrant  families  going  to 
Uvalde,  and  soon  became  acquainted  with  some  fine  girls  in 
the  party.  They  entertained  us  all  the  way  down  to  Taylor, 
where  we  changed  cars.  As  we  told  them  goodbye  one  asked 
me  to  write  a line  in  her  autograph  album.  Now  1 was  sure 
enough  “up  a tree.”  I had  been  in  some  pretty  tight  places, 
and  had  had  to  solve  some  pretty  hard  problems,  but  this 
was  a new  one  for  me.  You  see  the  American  people  go 
crazy  over  some  fad  about  once  a year,  and  in  1882  it  was 
the  autograph  fad.  I begged  the  young  lady  to  excuse  me, 
but  she  insisted,  so  I took  the  album  and  began  writing  down 
ail  the  road  brands  that  I was  familiar  with.  But  she  told  me 
to  write  a verse  of  some  kind.  1 happened  to  think  of  a reci- 
tation I had  learned  at  school  when  I was  a little  boy  so  1 
wrote  as  follows:  “It’s  tiresome  work  says  lazy  Ned,  to 

climb  the  hill  in  my  new  sled,  and  beat  the  other  boys.  Signed, 
Your  Bulliest  Friend,  JACK  POTTER.” 

We  then  boarded  the  I.  & G.  N.  for  San  Antonio,  and  at 
Austin  a lively  bunch  joined  us,  including  Hal  Gosling,  Unit- 
ed States  Marshall,  Captain  Joe  Sheeley  and  Sheriff  Quigley 
of  Castroville.  Pretty  soon  the  porter  called  out  “San  Anto- 
nio, Santonnie-o,”  and  that  was  music  to  my  ears.  My  first 
move  on  getting  off  the  train  was  to  look  out  for  my  trunk 
and  found  it  had  arrived.  I said  to  myself,  “Jack  Potter, 
you’re  a lucky  dog.  Ticket  held  out  all  right,  toe  nails  all 
healed  up,  and  trunk  came  through  in  good  shape.’’  After 
registering  at  the  Central  Hotel,  I wrote  to  that  general  ticket 
agent  at  Denver  as  follows: 


60 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


San  Antonio,  Texas,  Oct.  5th,  1882. 
Gen.  Ticket  Agt.  A.  T.  & S.  F., 

1415  Larmer  St.,  Denver,  Colo. 

Dear  Sir — I landed  in  San  Antonio  this  afternoon  all  O.  K. 
My  trunk  also  came  through  without  a scratch.  I want  to 
thank  you  very  much  for  the  man  you  sent  along  to  look  after 
my  trunk.  He  was  very  accommodating,  and  would  not  al- 
low me  to  assist  him  in  loading  it  on  at  Denver.  No  doubt 
he  will  want  to  see  some  of  the  sights  of  San  Antonio,  for  it 
is  a great  place,  and  noted  for  its  chile  con  carne.  When 
he  takes  a fill  of  this  food,  as  every  visitor  does,  you  can  ex- 
pect him  back  in  Denver  on  very  short  notice,  as  he  will  be 
seeking  a cooler  climate.  Did  you  ever  eat  any  chile  con 
carne?  I will  send  you  a dozen  cans  soon,  but  tell  your  wife 
to  keep  it  in  the  refrigerator  as  it  might  set  the  house  on  fire. 
Thank  you  again  for  past  favors. 

Your  Bulliest  Friend, 

JACK  POTTER. 

(EDITOR’S  NOTE — The  foregoing  will  be  read  with 
much  interest  by  the  old  cowboys  who  worked  the  range  and 
traveled  the  trail  with  Jack  Potter.  Mr.  Potter  is  now  a 
prosperous  stockmen,  owning  large  ranch  interests  in  Okla- 
homa and  New  Mexico.  He  is  the  son  of  Rev.  Jack  Potter, 
the  “Fighting  Parson,”  who  was  known  to  all  the  early  set- 
tlers of  West  Texas.  The  above  article  is  characteristic  of 
the  humor  and  wit  of  this  rip-roaring,  hell-raising  cow-puncher, 
who,  George  Saunders  says,  and  other  friends  concur  in 
the  assertion,  was  considered  to  be  the  most  cheerful  liar  on 
the  face  of  the  earth.  But  he  was  always  the  life  of  the  out- 
fit in  camp  or  on  the  trail.) 


WHEN  A GIRL  MASQUERADED  AS  A COWBOY  AND 
SPENT  FOUR  MONTHS  ON  THE  TRAIL. 

By  Samuel  Dunn  Houston,  San  Antonio,  Texas. 

My  first  trip  was  from  Southern  Texas,  in  the  spring  1876. 
Mac  Stewart  was  foreman.  The  cattle  belonged  to  Ellison  & 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


61 


Dewees.  In  the  spring  1877  and  1878  I was  on  the  trail 
with  Bill  Green  with  the  Ellison  & Dewees  cattle.  In  the 
spring  1879  I was  on  the  trail  with  Len  Pierce,  but  when  we 
crossed  the  Cimarron,  the  boys  all  went  to  the  Longhorn 
Roundup  and  got  too  much  whiskey,  went  to  camp,  made  a 
rough  house  and  fired  Mr.  Pierce.  He  went  to  Dodge  City 
and  we  put  John  Saunders  of  Lockhart  in  charge  of  the  herd. 
Pierce  was  no  good.  In  the  spring  1880  I was  on  the  trail 
with  Henry  Miller,  with  the  Head  & Bishop  cattle.  In  the 
spring  1881  I was  on  the  trail  with  Monroe  Hardeman,  Head 
& Bishop  cattle.  In  1882,  I went  with  George  Wilcox,  Head 
& Bishop  cattle.  In  1883  I worked  for  Captain  B.  L.  Crouch 
in  Frio  county.  In  1884  I went  on  the  trail  with  two  herds 
for  Captain  Crouch,  spring  herd  and  fall  herd.  In  the  fall 
1884,  I was  ordered  to  Seven  Rivers,  New  Mexico,  by  Cap- 
tain Crouch  to  help  deliver  the  Joe  Crouch  cattle  which  the 
Captain  had  sold  to  the  Holt  Live  Stock  Company,  after  Joe 
Crouch  had  died. 

I was  on  the  range  during  the  year  1885. 

In  the  spring  1886  I went  to  work  for  the  Holt  Live  Stock 
Company  and  was  promoted  trail  foreman  and  drove  my 
first  herd  for  that  company  in  the  spring  of  1886,  and  was 
trail  boss  for  the  company  until  1893.  I would  take  off  the 
spring  herd  and  drive  from  one  to  two  feeder  herds  to  the 
Corn  Belt  country  down  on.  the  Cimarron.  'That  year  I was 
on  the  trail  almost  the  year  around.  One  winter  1 didn’t  get 
back  from  the  third  trip  until  the  last  of  January.  1 expect 
I have  made  more  trips  over  the  cow  trail  from  Southern 
Texas  and  New  Mexico  than  any  man  in  the  country. 

In  the  fall  of  1893,  I came  back  to  my  old  home  to  die, 
but  1 am  still  living  and  able  to  do  a man’s  work  every  day. 
I live  in  San  Antonio  with  my  good  wife  and  three  nice  daugh- 
ters, and  keep  my  gun  at  the  head  of  my  bed  to  keep  the 
young  up-to-date  cowboys  away. 

Now  1 am  going  to  write  a sketch  of  a trip  I made  while  1 
was  with  the  Holt  Live  Stock  Company  of  New  Mexico,  in 
the  spring  1888. 

I was  hiring  men  for  the  spring  drive  and  they  were  not 
very  plentiful  in  that  country,  but  as  luck  was  on  my  side,  I 


62 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


heard  that  there  were  four  men  at  Seven  Rivers  who  had 
come  up  from  Texas  and  wanted  work.  I got  in  my  chuck 
wagon,  went  to  Seven  Rivers  and  found  what  I was  looking- 
for,  so  that  completed  my  outfit. 

In  a few  days  I went  up  the  Pecos  to  the  spring  round-up 
and  took  charge  of  the  steer  herd  of  twenty-five  hundred 
three’s  and  up.  George  Wilcox,  the  ranch  boss  counted  them 
out  to  me  and  said,  “Sam,  they  are  yours.” 

I lined  up  my  men,  drifted  over  toward  Roswell  and  did 
fine  the  first  night.  We  passed  around  town  the  next  morn- 
ing, and  camped  that  night  on  Salt  Creek.  I picked  the 
wrong  place  to  bed  the  herd,  so  about  nine  pin  they  broke, 
and  we  didn’t  get  them  stopped  until  four  o’clock  in  the  morn- 
ing. I told  the  boys  we  had  lost  half  of  the  herd.  Just  as 
soon  as  daylight  came  I had  everything  in  the  saddle  to  move 
the  herd  off  the  bed  ground.  1 counted  them  and  I was  out 
six  hundred  and  thirty-five  head  of  steers.  I left  four  men 
with  the  herd  and  cut  for  sign.  1 found  where  they  had  struck 
the  Pecos  River  and  went  down  that  stream.  We  struck  a 
gallop  and  found  the  entire  bunch,  six  miles  down  the  river. 
They  showed  they  had  been  in  a stampede  for  they  were  as 
green  as  the  grass  itself. 

When  1 got  back  to  camp,  1 found  the  cause  of  the  stam- 
pede. I had  failed  to  go  over  the  bed  ground  the  evening  be- 
fore and  I found  I had  bedded  the  herd  on  high  ground  and 
on  the  worst  gopher  holes  I could  have  found  in  that  country. 
I was  out  only  four  or  five  head  and  they  were  close  to  the 
range. 

I had  a boy  with  me  by  the  name  of  Gus  Votaw.  He  was 
about  twenty  years  old,  and  was  the  son  of  Billie  Votaw, 
who  all  the  old  timers  knew  in  San  Antonio.  Gus  made  a 
good  hand. 

That  day  while  drifting  along  up  the  Pecos  River  I went 
ahead  to  hunt  a watering  place  and  when  I rode  up  on  a 
gyp  hill  overlooking  the  herd  1 saw  six  or  seven  men  in  a 
bunch.  I went  down  to  the  herd  to  know  the  cause  and  hand 
out  a few  orders.  When  1 got  to  them  I found  the  four  men 
I secured  at  Seven  Rivers  were  gun  men  and  had  been  play- 
ing pranks  on  Gus  Votaw.  I told  them  they  would  have  to 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


03 


cut  that  out  and  they  didn’t  say,  yes  or  no,  so  1 kept  my  eyes 
open  from  there  on.  In  a few  days  I caught  one  of  them  at 
the  same  thing  and  I read  the  law  to  him  and  when  I got 
them  all  in  camp  I told  them  that  I was  going  to  run  the  out- 
fit and  that  such  things  as  that  must  be  cut  out  right  now.  I also 
told  Gus  that  if  they  worried  him  any  more  to  let  me  know. 

1 will  leave  off  now  from  here  to  Fort  Sumner,  New  Mexi- 
co, which  was  less  time  than  a month. 

I arrived  at  Fort  Sumner  in  less  than  a month  and  had  to  stop 
and  write  some  letters,  so  1 told  the  cook  and  horse  rustler 
to  take  the  wagon  and  camp  it  up  the  river  and  for  the  cook 
to  have  dinner  early,  for  I would  be  there  about  ten  o’clock. 

I finished  my  job  at  the  postoffice,  mounted  my 
horse  and  pulled  out  for  camp.  When  I got  up  within  two 

hundred  yards  of  camp  1 looked  up  and  saw  what  I thought, 

every  man  in  camp  and  only  one  man  with  the  herd.  When 
I rode  up  every  man  had  a gun  in  his  hand  but  Gus  Votaw. 
I got  off  my  horse  and  of  course  knew  the  cause.  The  cook 
said,  “Boss  there  is  going  to  be  hell  here,  I am  glad  you 
came.” 

I went  to  the  front  of  the  wagon,  got  my  gun  off  of  the 

water  barrel  and  I told  the  men  that  1 would  play  my  trump 

card,  that  I had  to  have  every  gun  in  camp.  I didn’t  expect  to 
live  to  get  the  last  one  but  I did.  I got  six  of  them,  knocked  the 
loads  out,  threw  them  in  the  wagon,  got  out  my  time  and  check 
books  and  gave  the  four  gun  men  their  time.  I told  the  cook 
and  horse  rustler  to  hitch  up  the  mules  and  we  would  move 
camp.  I left  the  four  bad  men  sitting  on  their  saddles  under 
a cottonwood  tree  and  felt  that  I had  done  the  right  thing. 
I went  up  the  river  about  two  miles  and  camped. 

Afer  all  this  occurred,  right  here  my  troubles  began.  I had 
to  leave  the  Pecos  River  and  drive  across  the  Staked  Plains, 
ninety  miles  without  water.  The  next  water  was  the  Cana- 
dian River.  Being  short  handed,  I had  to  put  my  horses  in 
the  herd,  put  the  horse  rustler  with  the  herd  and  made  a 
hand  myself.  1 held  the  herd  over  that  day  and  rested,  raised 
the  men’s  wages  five  dollars,  and  made  my  plans.  The  next 
day  we  had  dinner  early,  filled  my  water  barrel  and  left  the 
old  Pecos  at  eleven  o’clock  for  a long  dry  drive. 


64 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


That  evening  at  sun-down  we  reached  the  top  of  the  mesa, 
fifteen  miles  up  hill  all  the  way.  We  rounded  up  the  herd  on 
the  trail,  got  a bite  to  eat,  changed  horses  and  drove  until 
day-break,  bedded  on  the  trail  again  and  had  lunch.  The 
cattle  were  getting  very  dry  and  men  were  worn  out.  We 
kept  this  up  until  we  reached  the  Canadian  River,  which  was 
fifty-two  hours  from  the  time  we  left  the  Pecos  River.  I 
didn’t  lose  a steer. 

I could  not  let  the  herd  string  out  in  making  the  trip  if  I 
had  we  would  have  lost  cattle.  I kept  them  in  a bunch  and 
when  I reached  the  Canadian  River  I laid  over  three  days  to 
let  the  men,  horses  and  cattle  rest.  I would  run  off  the  range 
cattle  in  the  evening  and  turn  everything  loose  at  night  ex- 
cept one  horse  for  each  man. 

It  was  only  a few  miles  to  Clayton,  New  Mexico,  a small 
railroad  town  ahead,  so  I struck  camp,  left  the  boys  with 

the  herd  and  I went  to  town  to  see  if  I could  get  two  or 

three  trail  men. 

When  I got  there  1 found  there  were  no  men  in  town, 
but  I met  an  old  friend  of  mine  and  he  told  me  that  there 

was  a kid  of  a boy  around  town  that  wanted  to  get  with  a 

herd  and  go  up  the  trail,  but  he  had  not  seen  him  for  an 
hour  or  so.  I put  out  to  hunt  that  kid  and  found  him  over 
at  the  livery  stable.  I hired  him  and  took  him  to  camp,  and 
put  him  with  the  horses  and  put  my  rustler  with  the  cattle. 
I got  along  fine  for  three  or  four  months.  The  kid  would 
get  up  the  darkest  stormy  nights  and  stay  with  the  cattle 
until  the  storm  was  over.  He  was  good  natured,  very  mod- 
est, didn’t  use  any  cuss  words  or  tobacco,  and  always  pleas- 
ant. His  name  was  Willie  Matthews,  was  nineteen  years  old 
and  weighed  one  hundred  and  twenty-five  pounds.  His  home 
was  in  Caldwell,  Kansas,  and  I was  so  pleased  with  him  that 
I wished  many  times  that  1 could  find  two  or  three  more 
like  him. 

Everything  went  fine  until  I got  to  Hugo,  Colorado,  a lit- 
tle town  on  the  old  K.  P.  Railroad,  near  the  Colorado  and 
Wyoming  line.  There  was  good  grass  and  water  close  to 
town,  so  I pulled  up  about  a half  a mile  that  noon  and 
struck  camp.  After  dinner  the  kid  come  to  where  I was  sit- 


» 


rHE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


65 


ting  and  asked  me  if  he  could  quit.  He  insisted,  said  he  was 
homesick  and  I had  to  let  him  go. 

About  sun-down  we  were  all  sitting  around  camp  and 
the  old  herd  was  coming  in  on  the  bed  ground,  I looked  up 
toward  town  and  saw  a lady,  all  dressed  up,  coming  toward 
camp  walking.  1 told  the  boys  we  were  going  to  have  com- 
pany. I couldn’t  imagine  why  a woman  would  be  coming 
on  foot  to  a cow  camp,  but  she  kept  right  on  coming,  and 
when  within  fifty  feet  of  camp,  1 got  up  to  be  ready  to  re- 
ceive my  guest.  Our  eyes  were  all  set  on  her,  and  every 
man  holding  his  breath.  When  she  got  up  in  about  twen- 
ty feet  of  me,  she  began  to  laugh,  and  said,  “Mr.  Houston, 
you  don’t  know  me,  do  you?” 

Well,  for  one  minute  I couldn’t  speak.  She  reached  her 
hand  out  to  me,  to  shake  hands,  and  I said,  “Kid,  is  it  pos- 
sible that  you  are  a lady?”  That  was  one  time  that  I could 
not  think  of  anything  to  say,  for  everything  that  had  been 
said  on  the  old  cow  trail  in  the  last  three  or  four  days 
entered  my  mind  at  that  moment. 

In  a little  while  we  all  crowded  around  the  girl  and  shook 
her  hand,  but  we  were  so  dumbfounded  we  could  hardly  think 
of  anything  to  say.  I told  the  cook  to  get  one  of  the  to- 
mato boxes  for  a chair.  The  kid  sat  down  and  I said,  “Now 
I wa^l  you  to  explain  yourself.” 

“Well,”  she  said,  “I  will  tell  you  all  about  it,  Mr.  Hous- 
ton. My  papa  is  an  old  time  trail  driver  from  Southern 
Texas.  He  drove  from  Texas  to  Caldwell,  Kansas,  in  the 
70’s.  He  liked  the  country  around  Caldwell  very  much,  so 
the  last  trip  he  made  he  went  to  work  on  a ranch  up  there 
and  never  returned  to  Texas  any  more.  In  two  or  three 
years  he  and  my  mother  were  married.  After  I was  ten  or 
twelve  years  old,  1 used  to  hear  papa  talk  so  much  about 
the  old  cow  trail  and  I made  up  my  mind  that  when  I was 
grown  I was  going  up  the  trail  if  I had  to  run  off.  I had  a 
pony  of  my  own  and  read  in  the  paper  of  the  big  herds 
passing  Clayton,  New  Mexico,  so  I said,  now  is  my  chance 
to  get  on  the  trail.  Not  being  far  over  to  Clayton  I saddled 
my  pony  and  told  brother  I was  going  out  in  the  country, 
and  I might  be  gone  for  a week,  but  for  him  to  tell  papa 


66 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


not  to  worry  about  me,  I would  be  back.  I had  on  a suit 
of  brother’s  clothes  and  a pair  of  his  boots.  In  three  or  four 
days  I was  in  Clayton  looking  for  a job  and  I found  one. 
Now  Mr.  Houston,  I am  glad  I found  you  to  make  the  trip 
with,  for  I have  enjoyed  it.  I am  going  just  as  straight  home 
as  I can  go  and  that  old  train  can’t  run  too  fast  for  me, 
when  1 get  on  it.” 

The  train  left  Hugo  at  1 1 :20  o’clock  in  the  evening.  I 
left  one  man  with  the  herd  and  took  the  kid  and  every  man 
to  town  to  see  the  little  girl  off.  I suppose  she  was  the  only 
girl  that  ever  made  such  a trip  as  that.  She  was  a perfect 
lady. 

After  I got  through  and  returned  to  the  ranch  on  the  Pecos 
River,  I had  many  letters  from  the  little  girl  and  her  father 
also,  thanking  me  for  the  kindness  toward  Willie  and  begging 
me  to  visit  them. 

The  trip  I made  that  year  was  for  the  Holt  Live  Stock 
Company  of  Denver,  Colorado.  They  also  had  large  ranches 
in  New  Mexico. 

The  next  morning  I went  to  Hugo  and  secured  three  more 
men  and  hit  the  trail  for  Pole  Creek,  Wyoming,  about  fifty 
miles  from  the  Montana  and  Wyoming  line,  where  1 turned 
over  the  big  herd  to  the  Russell  Brothers  Ranch,  and  that 
was  the  end  of  this  drive. 


A TRYING  TRIP  ALONE  THROUGH  THE  WILDERNESS. 

By  Samuel  Dunn  Houston,  2206  South  Presa  St., 

San  Antonio,  Texas. 

In  1879  I went  through  Southern  Texas  with  a big  herd  of 
cattle  to  the  northern  market,  Ogallala,  Nebraska.  This  herd 
belonged  to  Head  & Bishop. 

We  reached  Ogallala  August  10th,  1879,  and  there  we  met 
R.  G.  Head,  who  gave  the  boss,  John  Sanders,  orders  to 
cross  the  South  Platte  the  next  morning  and  proceed  to 
the  North  Platte.  He  said  he  would  see  us  over  there  and 
would  tell  us  where  to  take  the  herd. 

On  August  11th  we  crossed  the  South  Platte  and  went  over 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


67 


on  North  River  about  ten  miles  and  camped.  Dick  Head 
came  over  to  camp  for  dinner  and  told  our  boss  to  take  the 
herd  up  to  Tusler’s  Ranch  on  Pumpkin  Creek  and  Mr.  Tus- 
ler  would  be  there  to  receive  the  cattle.  He  said  it  was 
about  one  hundred  miles  up  the  Platte.  After  dinner  we 
strung  the  herd  out  and  drove  them  up  there.  We  rushed 
them  up  because  we  were  anxious  to  get  back  to  Ogallala 
to  see  all  of  our  old  cowboy  friends  get  in  from  the  long  drive 
from  Texas. 

We  reached  the  Tusler  Ranch  on  August  1 9th  and  on  the 
20th  we  counted  the  old  herd  over  to  the  ranch  boss  and 
started  back  to  Ogallala,  making  the  return  trip  in  four  days. 

The  next  morning  as  we  were  going  through  town,  I met 
an  old  trail  boss,  and  he  wanted  me  to  go  with  him  to  Red 
Cloud  Agency,  Dakota,  with  four  thousand  big  Texas  steers 
that  belonged  to  D.  R.  Fant.  They  were  Indian  contracted 
cattle,  so  I told  the  boss  I was  ready  to  make  the  trip.  Tom 
Moore  was  the  foreman’s  name  and  he  was  a man  that  knew 
how  to  handle  a big  herd. 

I went  to  camp  with  Tom  that  night  and  he  got  all  the 
outfit  together  and  on  August  28th  we  took  charge  of  the 
big  herd.  They  were  one  of  the  old  King  herds  which  had 
come  in  by  way  of  Dodge  City,  Kansas,  from  the  old  coast 
country  down  in  Southern  Texas. 

They  wanted  to  walk,  so  we  strung  them  out,  and  headed 
for  the  old  South  Platte.  When  the  lead  cattle  got  to  the 
bank  of  the  river  the  boss  said,  “Now  Sam  don’t  let  them 
turn  back  on  you,  and  we  won’t  have  any  trouble.’’  We 
landed  on  the  other  side  all  O.  K.  and  went  through  the 
valley  and  on  through  the  town.  Everybody  in  town  was  out 
to  see  the  big  King  herd  go  through.  I threw  my  hat  back 
on  my  head  and  I felt  as  though  the  whole  herd  belonged  to 
me. 

When  the  lead  cattle  struck  the  foot  hills  I looked  back 
and  could  see  the  tail  end  coming  in  the  river,  and  I told  my 
partner,  the  right  hand  pointer,  that  we  were  headed  for  the 
North  pole.  We  raised  our  hats  and  bid  Ogallala  good-bye. 
When  the  lead  cattle  got  to  North  River  it  was  an  hour  and 


68 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


ten  minutes  before  the  tail  end  got  to  the  top  of  the  hills.  My 
partner  and  I threw  the  range  cattle  out  of  the  flats  and  we 
had  it  easy  until  the  chuck  wagon  came  over  and  struck  camp 
for  noon,  then  four  of  us  boys  went  to  camp. 

We  had  a high  ball  trail  from  there  on. 

We  didn’t  cross  the  North  Platte  until  we  got  to  Fort 
Laramie,  Wyoming.  The  snow  was  melting  in  the  moun- 
tains and  the  river  was  muddy  and  no  bottom  to  the  quick 
sand.  I was  looking  every  night  for  a stampede  but  we  were 
lucky.  The  night  we  camped  close  to  the  Court  House  Rock, 
they  made  a jump  off  the  bed  ground,  but  that  didn’t  count. 
I think  they  got  wind  of  the  old  negro  cook.  This  herd  had 
come  from  the  old  King  Ranch,  away  down  in  Texas  with  a 
Mexican  cook.  I told  the  boss  that  the  next  morning  and 
he  said  he  was  almost  sure  that  was  the  cause. 

The  North  Platte  River  in  places  is  more  than  a mile 
wide  and  it  seemed  to  me  when  we  reached  the  place  we  were 
to  cross,  it  was  two  miles  wide.  The  range  cattle  on  the 
other  side  looked  like  little  calves  standing  along  .the  bank. 

When  we  reached  Fort  Laramie  we  made  ready  to  cross. 
I pulled  my  saddle  off  and  then  my  clothes.  Tom  came  up 
and  said,  “Sam,  you  are  doing  the  right  thing.”  I told  him 
1 had  crossed  that  river  before  and  that  1 had  a good  old 
friend  who  once  started  to  cross  that  river  and  he  was  lost 
in  the  quicksand.  His  name  was  Theodore  Luce,  of  Lock- 
hart, Texas.  He  was  lost  just  above  the  old  Seven  Crook 
Ranch  above  Ogallala.  Tom  told  all  the  boys  to  pull  off 
their  saddles  before  going  across.  When  everything  was 
ready  we  strung  the  herd  back  on  the  hill  and  headed  for  the 
crossing.  Men  and  steers  were  up  and  under  all  the  way 
across. 

We  landed  over  all  safe  and  sound,  got  the  sand  out  of 
our  hair,  counted  the  boys  to  see  if  they  were  all  there  and 
pulled  out  to  the  foot  hills  to  strike  camp. 

About  ten  o’clock  that  night  the  first  guards  came  in  to 
wake  my  partner  and  1 to  stand  second  guard.  I got  up, 
pulled  on  my  boots,  untied  my  horse  and  then  the  herd 
broke.  The  two  first  guards  had  to  ride  until  Tom  and  the 
other  men  got  there.  Three  of  us  caught  the  leaders  and 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


69 


threw  them  back  to  the  tail  end,  then  run  them  in  a mill, 
until  they  broke  again.  We  kept  that  up  till  three  o’clock  in 
the  morning  when  we  got  them  quieted. 

We  held  them  there  until  daylight,  then  strung  them  to- 
wards the  wagon  and  counted  them.  We  were  out  fifty- 
five  head,  but  we  had  the  missing  ones  back  by  eight  o’clock. 
We  were  two  miles  from  the  grub  wagon  when  the  run  was 
over.  The  first  guards  said  that  a big  black  wolf  got  up  too 
close  to  the  herd  and  that  was  the  cause  of  the  trouble. 

Our  next  water  was  the  Neobrara  River,  which  was  thirty 
miles  across  the  Laramie  Plains.  We  passed  over  that  in  fine 
shape.  From  there  our  next  water  was  White  River.  The 
drive  through  that  country  was  bad,  because  the  trail  was 
so  crooked  and  such  deep  canyons.  We  reached  White  River, 
crossed  over  and  camped.  About  the  time  we  turned  the 
mules  loose,  up  rode  about  thirty  bucks  and  squaws,  all 
ready  for  supper.  They  stood  around  till  supper  was  ready 
and  the  old  negro  cook  began  to  get  crazy  and  they  couldn’t 
stay  any  longer.  They  got  on  their  horses  and  left. 

An  Indian  won’t  stay  where  there  is  a crazy  person.  They 
say  he  is  the  devil. 

The  next  morning  the  horse  rustler  was  short  ten  head  of 
horses.  He  hunted  them  until  time  to  move  camp  and  never 
found  them,  so  Tom  told  me  that  I could  stay  there  and 
look  them  up,  and  he  would  take  the  herd  eight  or  ten 
miles  up  the  trail  and  wait  for  me.  I roped  out  my  best 
horse,  got  my  Winchester  and  six-shooter  and  started  out 
looking  for  the  horses.  I rode  that  country  out  and  out, 
but  could  not  find  them,  so  I just  decided  the  Indians  drove 
them  off  during  the  night  to  get  a reward  or  a beef.  I 
thought  I would  go  down  to  the  mouth  of  White  River,  on 
the  Missouri  River  in  the  bottom  where  the  Indians  were 
camped.  When  I got  down  in  the  bottom  1 saw  horse  signs, 
so  I was  sure  from  the  tracks  they  were  our  horses.  I rode 
and  rode  until  I found  them.  There  was  no  one  around 
them,  so  I started  back  with  the  bunch. 

When  I had  covered  three  or  four  miles,  I looked  back 
and  saw  a big  dust  on  the  hill  out  of  White  River.  Then  I 
rode  for  life,  because  I knew  it  was  a bunch  of  Indians  and 


70 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


they  were  after  me.  I could  see  the  herd  ahead  of  me,  and 
never  let  up.  I beat  them  to  camp  about  a half  mile. 

When  they  rode  up  and  pointed  to  the  horses,  one  Indian 
said,  “Them  my  horses  This  man  steal  ’em!  Him  no  good!” 
We  had  an  old  squaw  humper  along  with  us,  and  he  got 
them  down  to  a talk  and  Tom  told  them  he  would  give  them 
a beef.  Tom  went  with  them  out  to  the  herd  and  cut  them  out 
a big  beef  and  they  ran  it  off  a short  distance  and  killed  it, 
cut  it  up,  packed  it  on  their  ponies  and  went  back  toward 
White  River.  I told  the  boss  that  was  the  best  deed  he  ever 
did  in  his  life.  If  those  Indians  had  overtaken  me  I am  sure  my 
bones  would  be  bleaching  in  that  country  today.  The  Indians 
were  almost  on  the  war  path  at  that  time  and  we  were  lucky 
in  that  we  did  not  have  any  more  trouble  with  them. 

A week  longer  put  us  at  the  Agency.  Tom  went  ahead  of 
the  herd  and  reported  to  the  agent.  We  camped  about 
four  miles  this  side  that  night  and  the  next  morning  we 
strung  the  old  herd  off  the  bed  ground  and  went  in  to  the 
pens  at  Red  Cloud  Agency,  Dakota.  There  I saw  more 
Indians  than  I ever  expected  to  see.  The  agent  said,  there 
were  about  ten  thousand  on  the  ground. 

It  took  us  all  day  to  weigh  the  herd  out,  ten  steers  on  the 
scales  at  one  time.  We  weighed  them  and  let  them  out  one 
side  and  the  agent  would  call  the  Indians  by  name  and  each 
family  would  fall  in  behind  his  beef  and  off  to  the  flats  they 
would  go. 

After  we  got  the  herd  all  weighed  out  the  agent  told 
us  to  camp  there  close  and  he  would  show  us  around.  He 
said  the  Indians  were  going  to  kill  a fat  dog  that  night  and 
after  they  had  feasted  they  would  lay  the  carcass  on  the 
ground  and  have  a war  dance. 

All  the  boys  wanted  to  stay  and  see  them  dance.  A few 
of  the  bucks  rode  through  the  crowd  several  times  with 
their  paint  on.  In  a little  while  a buck  came  up  with  a table 
on  his  head  and  set  it  down  in  the  crowd  and  then  came 
another  with  big  butcher  knives  in  his  hand  and  a third 
came  with  a big  fat  dog  on  his  shoulder,  all  cleaned  like 
a hog.  He  placed  it  on  the  table,  then  every  Indian  on 
the  ground  made  some  k fdinpoaow-wo 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


71 


the  ground  made  some  kind  of  a pow-wow  that  could  be 
heard  for  miles,  after  which  the  old  chief  made  a speech 
and  the  feast  began.  Every  Indian  on  the  ground  had  a 
bite  of  that  dog.  They  wanted  us  to  go  up  and  have  some, 
but  we  were  not  hungry,  so  we  stood  back  and  looked  on 
“Heap  good,”  said  the  chief,  “heap  fat.”  About  ten  o’clock 
they  had  finished  eating  and  two  squaws  took  the  carcass 
off  the  table  and  put  it  on  the  ground  and  the  dance  began. 
Every  Indian  was  painted  in  some  bright  color.  That  was 
a wonderful  dance. 

The  next  morning  we  started  back  over  our  old  trail  to 
Ogallala.  It  was  about  October  1 6th  and  some  cooler  and 
all  of  the  boys  were  delighted  to  head  south. 

Seven  days’  drive  with  the  outfit  brought  us  back  to  the 
Neobrara  River  and  we  struck  camp  at  the  Dillon  Ranch. 

The  Dillon  Ranch  worked  a number  of  half-breed  Indians. 
I was  talking  with  one  about  going  back  to  Ogallala,  as 
1 was  very  anxious  to  get  on  the  trail  road  and  go  down 
in  Texas  to  see  my  best  girl. 

He  told  me  he  could  tell  me  a route  that  I could  cut 
off  two  or  three  hundred  miles  going  to  Ogallala.  So  I 
wrote  it  all  down.  He  told  me  to  go  over  the  old  Indian 
trail  across  the  Laramie  Plains,  saying  his  father  had  often 
told  him  how  to  go  and  the  trail  was  wide  and  plain  and 
it  was  only  one  hundred  and  seventy-five  or  two  hundred 
miles.  Right  there  1 made  up  my  mind  that  I would  go  that 
way  and  all  alone.  There  were  only  two  watering  places  and 
they  were  about  forty  miles  apart.  The  first  lake  was 
sixty-five  or  seventy  miles. 

I had  the  best  horse  that  ever  crossed  the  Platte  River 
and  if  I could  cut  off  that  much,  I would  be  in  Texas  by 
the  time  the  outfit  reached  Ogallala. 

I asked  Tom  to  pay  me  off,  saying  that  I was  going  back 
to  Texas  over  the  old  Indian  trail  across  the  Laramie  Plains. 
I knew  if  an  Indian  crossed  that  country  I could  also. 

He  said,  “You  are  an  old  fool.  You  can’t  make  that 
trip,  not  knowing  where  the  fresh  water  is,  you  will  starve 
to  death.”  I told  him  that  I could  risk  it  anyway  and  I knew 
I could  make  it. 


72 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


Next  morning  I was  in  my  saddle  by  daylight,  bade  the 
boys  goodbye  and  told  them  if  they  heard  of  a dead  man 
or  horse  on  the  old  Indian  trail,  across  the  plains,  for  some 
of  them  the  next  year  to  come  and  pick  me  up,  but  I was 
sure  I could  make  the  trip  across. 

The  first  day’s  ride  I was  sure  I had  covered  sixty-five 
or  seventy  miles.  I was  getting  very  thirsty  that  evening  so 
I began  to  look  on  both  sides  of  the  trail  for  the  fresh 
water  lake,  but  was  disappointed.  I was  not  worried.  Just 
as  the  sun  went  down  I went  into  a deep  basin  just  off  the 
trail  where  there  was  a very  large  alkali  lake. 

I had  a pair  of  blankets,  my  slicker  and  saddle  blankets 
so  I made  my  bed  down  and  went  to  bed.  I was  tired  and 
old  Red  Bird  (my  horse)  was  also  jaded.  I lay  awake 
for  some  time  thinking  and  wondering  if  I was  on  the 
wrong  trail.  The  next  morning  I got  up,  after  a good  rest, 
ate  the  rest  of  my  lunch,  and  pulled  down  the  trail  looking 
on  both  sides  of  the  trail  for  the  fresh  water  lake  but  failed 
to  find  it.  I then  decided  that  the  half-breed  either  lied 
or  had  put  me  “up  a tree.”  Anyway  I would  not  turn 
back.  I had  plenty  of  money  but  that  was  no  good  out 
there.  I could  see  big  alkali  lakes  everywhere  but  I knew 
there  would  be  a dead  cowboy  out  there  if  I should  take 
a drink  of  that  kind  of  water. 

I rode  until  noon  but  found  nothing.  The  country  was 
full  of  deer,  antelope,  elk  and  lobo  wolves  but  they  were 
too  far  off  to  take  a shot  at.  When  I struck  camp  for 
noon,  I took  the  saddle  off  my  horse  and  lay  down  for 
a rest.  Got  up  about  one-thirty  and  hit  the  trail. 

That  was  my  second  days’  ride  and  my  tongue  was  very 
badly  swelled.  I could  not  spit  any  more,  so  I began  to 
use  my  brain  and  a little  judgment  and  look  out  for  “old 
Sam”  and  that  horse. 

About  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  I looked  off  to  my 
left  and  saw  a large  lobo  wolf  about  one  hundred  yards 
away  and  he  seemed  to  be  going  my  route.  I would  look 
in  his  direction  quite  often.  He  was  going  my  gait  and 
seemed  to  have  me  spotted.  I took  a shot  at  him  every 
little  while  but  I kept  on  going  and  so  did  he.  I rode  on 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


73 


until  sundown  and  looked  out  for  my  wolf,  but  did  not  see 
him.  The  trail  turned  to  the  right  and  went  down  into  a 
deep  alkali  basin.  I rode  down  into  it  and  decided  that 
I would  pull  into  camp  for  the  night,  as  1 was  very  much 
worn  out.  I went  down  to  the  edge  of  the  lake  pulled 
off  my  saddle  and  made  my  bed  down  on  my  stake  rope 
so  I would  not  lose  my  horse.  The  moon  was  just  coming 
up  over  the  hill. 

I threw  a load  in  my  gun  and  placed  it  by  my  side, 
with  my  head  on  my  saddle  and  dropped  off  to  sleep. 
About  nine  o’clock  the  old  wolf’s  howls  woke  me  up. 

I looked  up  and  saw  him  sitting  about  twenty  feet  from 
my  head  just  between  me  and  the  moon.  I turned  over 
right  easy,  slipped  my  gun  over  the  cantle  of  my  saddle 
and  let  him  have  one  ball.  He  never  kicked.  1 grabbed 
my  rope,  went  to  him,  cut  him  open  and  used  my  hands 
for  a cup  and  drank  his  old  blood.  It  helped  me  in  a way 
but  did  not  satisfy  as  water  would.  I went  down  to  the 
lake  and  washed  up,  went  back  to  bed  and  thought  1 would 
get  a good  sleep  and  rest  that  night  but  found  later  1 had 
no  rest  coming. 

1 was  nearly  asleep  when  something  awakened  me.  I 
raised  up  and  grabbed  my  gun,  and  saw  that  it  was  a herd 
of  elk,  so  I took  a shot  or  two  at  them.  As  soon  as  I shot 
they  stampeded  and  ran  off  but  kept  coming  back.  About 
twelve  o’clock  I got  up,  put  my  saddle  on  my  horse  and 
rode  until  daylight.  1 was  so  tired,  I thought  I would  lay 
down  and  sleep  awhile.  Riding  that  night  I must  have 
passed  the  second  water  lake.  After  sleeping  a little  while 
I got  up  and  broke  camp  and  rode  until  twelve  o’clock,  when 
1 stopped  for  noon  that  day.  That  being  my  third  day  out, 
I thought  I would  walk  around,  and  the  first  thing  I saw  was 
an  old  dead  horse’s  bones.  I wondered  what  a dead  horse’s 
bones  were  doing  away  out  there  so  I began  to  look  around 
some  more  and  what  should  I see  but  the  bones  of  a man. 
I was  sure  then  that  some  man  had  undertaken  to  cross  the 
plains  and  had  perished,  so  I told  old  Red  Bird  (my  horse) 
that  we  had  better  go  down  the  trail  and  we  pulled  out. 

That  evening  about  four  o’clock,  as  I was  walking  and 


74 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


leading  my  horse,  I saw  a very  high  sand  hill  right  on  the 
edge  of  the  old  trail.  I walked  on  to  the  top  of  the  sand  hill 
and  there  1 could  see  cottonwood  trees  just  ahead  of  me.  I 
sat  down  under  my  horse  about  a half  an  hour.  I could 
see  cattle  everywhere  in  the  valley  and  1 saw  a bunch  of 
horses  about  a mile  from  me.  I looked  down  toward  the 
trees  about  four  miles  and  saw  a man  headed  for  the  bunch 
of  horses.  1 didn’t  know  whether  he  was  an  Indian  or  not. 
He  was  in  a gallop  and  as  he  came  nearer  to  the  horses  1 
pulled  my  gun  and  shot  one  time.  He  stopped  a bit  and 
started  off  again.  Then  I made  two  shots  and  he  stopped 
again  a few  minutes.  By  that  time  he  had  begun  to  round 
up  the  horses,  so  1 shot  three  times.  He  quit  his  horses  and 
came  to  me  in  a run.  When  he  got  up  within  thirty  or  forty 
feet  of  me,  he  spoke  to  me  and  called  me  by  my  name  and 
said,  “Sam  you  are  the  biggest  fool  I ever  saw.”  I couldn’t 
say  a word  for  my  mouth  was  so  full  of  tongue,  but  I knew 
him.  He  shook  hands  and  told  me  to  get  up  behind  him  and 
we  would  go  to  camp  He  took  his  rope  and  tied  it  around 
my  waist  to  keep  me  from  falling  off  for  I was  very  weak. 
Then  he  struck  a gallop  and  we  were  at  camp  in  a very  few 
minutes.  He  tied  his  horse  and  said,  “Now  Sam  we  will  go 
down  to  the  spring  and  get  a drink  of  water.” 

Just  under  the  hill  about  twenty  steps  away  was  the  finest 
sight  I ever  saw  in  my  life.  He  took  down  his  old  tin  cup 
and  said,  “Now,  Sam,  1 am  going  to  be  the  doctor.’’  1 was 
trying  all  the  time  to  get  in  the  spring  but  was  so  weak  he 
could  hold  me  back  with  one  hand.  He  would  dip  up  just 
a teaspoonful  of  the  water  in  the  cup  and  say,  “Throw  your 
head  back,”  and  he  poured  it  on  my  tongue.  After  a while 
he  increased  it  until  I got  my  fill  and  my  tongue  went  down. 
When  I got  enough  water  then  I was  hungry.  I could  have 
eaten  a piece  of  that  fat  dog  if  I’d  had  it. 

My  friend’s  name  was  Jack  Woods,  an  old  cowboy  that 
‘ worked  on  the  Bosler  ranch.  Jack  and  1 had  been  up  the 
trail  from  Ogallala  to  the  Dakotas  many  times  before  that. 

Jack  said,  “Now,  Sam,  we  will  go  up  to  the  house  and  get 
something  to  eat.  I killed  a fat  heifer  calf  yesterday  and 
have  plenty  of  bread  cooked  so  you  come  in  and  lay  down 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


75 


and  I will  start  a fire  quickly  and  cook  some  steak  and  we  will 
eat  some  supper.”  Before  he  could  get  it  cooked,  I could 
stand  it  no  longer,  so  I slipped  out,  went  around  behind  the 
house  where  had  the  calf  hanging,  took  out  my  pocket  knife 
and  went  to  work  eating  the  raw  meat  trying  to  satisfy  my 
appetite.  After  fifteen  or  twenty  minutes,  Jack  came  around 
hunting  me  and  said,  “Sam,  I always  thought  you  were  crazy, 
now  I know  it.  Come  on  to  supper.”  I went  in  the  house 
and  ate  a hearty  supper. 

After  finishing  supper,  I never  was  so  sleepy  in  my  life. 
Jack  said,  “Sam,  lay  down  on  my  bed  and  go  to  sleep  and  I 
will  go  out  and  get  your  horse  and  treat  him  to  water  and 
oats.”  He  got  on  his  horse  and  struck  a gallop  for  the  sand 
hills,  where  my  poor  old  horse  was  standing  starving  to  death. 

Next  morning  Jack  told  me  that  a man  by  the  name  of 
Lumm  once  undertook  to  cross  those  plains  from  the  Neo- 
brara  River  to  the  head  of  the  Little  Blue  over  that  same  In- 
dian trail.  Jack  said,  “He  and  his  horse’s  bones  are  laying  out 
on  the  plains  now.  Perhaps  you  saw  them  as  you  came 
along.”  I told  him  I saw  the  bones  of  a man  and  the  horse 
but  didn’t  remember  how  far  back  it  was.  It  seemed  about 
twenty-five  miles. 

I remained  there  five  days  and  every  morning  while  I was 
there  Jack  and  I would  get  on  our  horses  and  go  out  in  the 
valley  and  round  up  the  horses  he  was  taking  care  of,  rope 
out  the  worst  outlaw  horse  he  had  in  the  bunch  and  take  the 
kink  out  of  his  back.  The  five  days  I was  there  1 rode  four 
and  five  horses  every  day. 

On  October  29th  I saddled  my  horse  and  told  Jack  I was 
going  to  Texas.  He  gave  me  a little  lunch,  and  I bid  him 
goodbye  and  headed  for  the  North  Platte. 

I reached  Bosler’s  Ranch  at  12:20  o’clock,  had  dinner, 
gave  the  boss  a note  from  Jack  Woods,  fed  my  horse,  rested 
one  hour,  saddled  up,  bade  the  boys  goodbye  and  headed  for 
Ogallala  on  the  South  Platte,  forty  miles  below. 

I reached  Ogallala  that  night  at  9:30  o’clock,  put  my  horse 
in  the  livery  stable,  went  up  to  the  Leach  Hotel  and  there  I 
met  Mr.  Dillon,  the  owner  of  the  Neobrara  Ranch,  sold  my 
horse  to  him  for  $80,  purchased  a new  suit,  got  a shave  and 


76 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


haircut,  bought  my  ticket  to  Texas  and  left  that  night  at 
11:30  o’clock  for  Kansas  City. 

On  November  6th  I landed  in  Austin,  Texas  thirty  miles 
from  my  home,  and  took  the  stage  the  next  morning  for 
Lockhart.  That  was  where  my  best  girl  lived  and  when  I 
got  there  I was  happy. 

This  was  the  end  of  a perfect  trip  from  Nebraska  on  the 
South  Platte  to  Red  Cloud  Agency,  North  Dakota. 


FIRST  CAMP  MEETING  IN  GRAYSON  COUNTY 

From  “Fruits  and  Flowers,”  by  Z.  N.  Morrell  . 

At  the  end  of  the  conference  year  1847,  the  Rev.  Mr. 
Brown,  assisted  by  the  Presiding  Elder,  Rev  Mr.  Custer,  held 
a camp  meeting  at  Warren,  in  Grayson  county.  Rev.  Mr. 
Duncan,  a missionary  from  the  Indian  Territory,  also  assisted 
in  the  meeting.  A camp  meeting  in  those  days  was  a most 
important  event,  and  anticipated  with  intense  interest  by  the 
settlers  far  and  near.  Different  motives  actuated  people  to 
attend  camp  meetings,  and  the  same  rule  will  apply  to  all 
such  occasions  of  later  date.  Some  go  out  of  courtesy,  to 
see  and  be  seen,  others  regard  it  as  a season  of  rest  and 
diversion,  while  many  embrace  the  occasion  to  gossip, 
exchange  news,  see  the  latest  fashions,  and  make  new 
acquaintances.  A few,  a chosen  few,  anticipate  the  event  in 
God’s  natural  temples,  the  leafy  groves,  they  will  feel  the 
“outpourings  of  the  spirit,’’  or  experience  the  magical  change 
of  heart,  granted  through  the  efficacy  of  prayer  to  those  who 
earnestly  seek  the  Divine  blessing.  But  we  will  go  as  spec- 
tators, mere  lookers  on,  and  take  a bird’s  eye  view  of  this 
panorama  in  the  midst  of  nature.  We  first  see  a large  shed 
covered  with  brush  and  limbs  of  trees;  this  is  to  shelter  the 
large  audience;  while  heavy  boards  or  logs  are  to  serve  as 
seats.  Another  slab  upheld  by  stakes  driven  in  the  ground 
and  covered  by  a bearskin  is  the  pulpit;  a number  of  chairs, 
some  split  bottom  and  some  covered  with  rawhide,  the  hair 
left  on,  are  for  the  stewards  and  ministers  expected  to  be 
present.  The  “mourner’s  bench”  has  not  been  forgotten, 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


77 


nor  has  the  straw  which  is  scattered  around  with  a liberal 
hand.  Little  brush  shanties  have  been  erected  all  around 
in  convenient  places  for  the  camps,  and  soon  their  occupants 
began  to  arrive.  They  came  “afoot  and  horseback,”  riding 
single  or  double.  On  carts  and  wagons  are  loaded  bedding, 
cooking  utensils  and  children.  Dogs  have  not  been  invited 
but  they  come  anyway,  and  make  themselves  too  familiar 
for  comfort,  and  are  all  sizes  and  breeds  from  the  longeared 
deerhound  to  the  common  cur.  The  camp  ground  begins  to 
assume  the  appearance  of  a picnic  on  a large  scale;  horses 
neigh  as  the  newcomers  arrive,  babies  cry,  children  shout  and 
play  and  a hum  of  good  natured  conversation,  inquiries  and 
greetings  all  combine  to  make  a vivid  and  realistic  picture  in 
its  setting  of  living  green.  I said  something  about  fashions, 
but  it  was  a far  fetched  allusion.  1 wonder  if  our  forefathers 
and  mothers  in  their  coonskin  caps  and  slat  sun  bonnets 
worried  about  the  “latest  styles”  or  in  their  primitive  sim- 
plicity ever  imagined  that  succeeding  generations  would  lose 
sight  of  their  humble  origin,  forget  what  the  foundation  of 
American  aristocracy  really  is,  and  run  to  vanity,  selfishness, 
patent  spring  bottom  pants,  “rats”  and  false  hair? 

It  is  now  approaching  the  time  when  the  meetings  is  to 
commence  and  to  blast  or  toot  the  horn  which  brings  the 
scattered  congregation  together.  Those  men  who  from  long 
habit,  carry  their  rifles  with  them,  lean  them  against  a tree, 
and  divest  themselves  of  shot  pouch  and  powder  horn.  A 
dog  fight  or  two  is  settled  and  the  yelping  curs  sent  off  to 
crouch  under  the  wagons;  then  all  gather  in  and  seat  them- 
selves on  the  rough  boards.  A few  youngsters  who  are 
habitually  thirsty  at  meeting  take  a last  long  drink  out  of 
the  bucket  near  the  pulpit,  put  the  gourd  dipper  down  rather 
noisily,  then  make  their  way  to  their  mothers,  who  uncere- 
moniously yank  them  into  a seat  and  bid  them  all  sit  there 
and  be  quiet.  At  last  all  is  still  and  solemn.  Brother  Brown 
raises  up  his  tall  form  threatening  to  bring  the  top  of  his  head 
and  the  brush  above  in  violent  collision.  He  casts  a search- 
ing glance  over  his  audience  and  finally  all  are  attentive  as  the 
occasion  requires  and  he  commences  in  a sonorous  voice  to 
line  out  the  hymn: 


78 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


“Children  of  the  Heavenly  King, 

As  we  journey  sweetly  sing,” — 

Here  we  leave  them,  confident  that  Brother  Brown,  in  his 
fervid  zeal,  will  faithfully  warn  his  interested  hearers  to  flee 
from  the  wrath  to  come. 

Thus  was  the  foundation  of  Methodism  in  Grayson  and 
adjoining  counties.  Brother  Brown  was  succeeded  by  Jeffer- 
son Schuck  and  he  by  Andrew  Davis  and  others,  all  earnest 
workers  in  the  cause.  The  Baptist  faith  was  ably  upheld  by 
two  brothers  by  the  name  of  Hiram  and  James  Savage.  One 
lived  on  Caney  Creek  and  the  other  on  Bois  d’Arc,  as  farmers. 
They  tilled  the  soil  the  week,  preaching  on  Sundays, 
accomplishing  great  good  on  the  frontier  of  Grayson. 

The  Fourth  of  July,  1847,  was  the  occasion  of  a grand 
barbecue  and  bran  dance  at  Sherman,  and  to  a great  many 
who  attended  the  festivities  this  was  their  first  view  of  the 
new  county  seat.  A log  house  about  20  feet  square,  used 
for  a court  house,  and  a few  rods  of  plowed  ground  comprised 
the  metropolis  from  one  end  to  the  other.  I will  leave  my 
readers  to  picture  the  contrast  of  the  city  then  and  now. 
For  the  barbecue  a large  brush  shed  was  built,  under  which 
were  tables  loaded  with  all  the  delicacies  of  the  season, 
welcome  to  all,  to  eat,  drink  and  be  merry  without  money 
and  without  price.  The  refreshment  stand,  a rail  fence  partly 
built  around  a barrel  of  whiskey  stood  near  at  hand,  while 
a tin  cup  did  frequent  duty  for  a thirsty  crowd.  The  court 
house  was  thrown  open  to  accomodate  dancers.  Justice 
took  off  her  spectacles,  laid  aside  her  scales,  and  for  once 
in  her  life  gave  herself  up  to  the  intoxicating  pleasures  of 
the  hoe-down.  Music  was  furnished  by  a stalwart  darkey 
perched  on  a barrel;  when  he  gave  out  another  stood  ready 
to  take  his  place  until  he  could  visit  the  refreshment  stand 
and  counteract  the  effect  of  the  heat  and  his  violent  exertions 
by  looking  for  the  bottom  of  his  tin  cup. 

When  we  stop  and  think  of  the  advancement  made  in 
every  direction  since  this  period  of  Texas  early  settlement, 
the  time  seems  longer  than  it  really  is.  When  we  remember 
that  those  pioneers  had  no  newspapers,  magazines,  or  any 
kind  of  communication  with  the  outside  world,  save  as  came 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


79 


by  word  of  mouth;  no  telegraph,  telephone  or  railroads,  that 
churches  and  schools  barely  struggled  into  existence  after 
long  years  of  patient  waiting,  it  makes  one  imagine  a pre- 
Adamite  sort  of  existence  and  not  of  a time  of  sixty  years  ago. 
Think  of  having  no  thread  except  that  manufactured  at  home; 
no  matches,  a flint  their  only  dependence  and  a stump  in  the 
field  set  fire  to  by  its  spark  was  their  reserve  when  the  fire 
at  the  house  would  accidently  go  out;  the  neighbors  literally 
coming  to  borrow  a shovel  of  coals. 

The  faithful  historian  of  the  Lone  Star  State  cannot  ignore, 
if  he  is  a loyal  chronicler,  the  honor  due  early  settlers  for 
services  rendered  as  advance  guards  to  the  great  time  of 
immigration  that  peopled  a prosperous  land.  It  has  not  been 
in  my  power  to  mention  but  a very  few  of  the  pioneers  of 
Grayson  county,  but  however  small  the  number  they  help 
swell  the  grand  total,  and  I bespeak  their  recognition  in  the 
annals  of  the  State.  The  pioneers  of  a country  are  deserving 
a niche  in  the  country’s  history,  and  the  pioneers  who  became 
martyrs  to  the  development  of  an  almost  unknown  land 
deserve  to  have  a place  in  the  hearts  of  its  inhabitants.  None 
but  the  brave  and  venturesome,  energetic  and  courageous 
dare  penetrate  the  pathless  wilderness  and  trackless  forests, 
and  Texas  with  her  cultivated  fields,  untold  wealth  and 
beautiful  homes  may  well  enshrine  the  memory  of  her  noble 
hearted  pioneer  pathfinders,  martyrs. 


THE  OLD  TRAILERS 

Recited  by  Luther  A.  Lawhon  at  conclusion  of  his  address, 
when  as  representative  of  Mayor  Bell,  he  welcomed  to  San 
Antonio  the  members  of  the  Old  Time  Trail  Drivers’  Asso- 
ciation, who  had  assembled  for  their  annual  reunion,  Septem- 
ber 9th  and  10th,  1919. 

You  recollect,  though  white  your  hair, 

When  you  came  up  to  see  the  sights, 

And  pike  a little  here  and  there, 

And  wager  on  the  badger  fights? 


80 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


Around  the  plazas,  then  alive, 

You  found  an  ample  feedin’  trough; 

You  smoked  ’em  with  your  forty-five, 

And  stood  the  stern  policeman  off. 

But  joys  like  these  will  soonest  pale; 

The  eagle  will  not  long  be  bound; 

So  pretty  soon  you  hit  the  trail, 

That  led  you  to  the  stampin’  ground. 

“Back  to  the  ranch — to  hell  with  the  towns 
You  shouted  with  a savage  yell; 

You  told  the  boys  your  ups  and  downs, 

And  some  things  that  you  didn’t  tell. 

But  ah  today — alas,  the  change! 

Those  good  old  times  have  faded  out; 

’Tis  strange — indeed  ’tis  passing  strange, 
How  all  these  things  have  come  about. 

Now  “Coke”  and  Tango  run  a race, 

For  the  honors  in  the  social  cup; 

And  golf  and  baseball  take  the  place, 

Of  poker,  dice  and  seven  up. 

And  when  we  stroll  in  friendly  way, 

To  read  the  signs  and  see  the  town, 

The  jitneys  mark  us  for  their  prey, 

And  aeroplanes  may  knock  us  down. 

The  city’s  lit  with  ’lectric  lights, 

That  blaze  and  blind  us  as  we  pass; 

No  more  we  note,  in  rooms  at  nights, 

The  warning,  “Don’t  blow  out  the  gas.” 

But  we  still  have  John  Blocker  here, 

And  Ike  T.  Pryor,  good  and  stout; 

And  they’ll  come  down — you  never  fear — 
With  what  we  need  to  help  us  out. 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


81 


And  we’ve  George  Saunders  too  today; 
He’ll  hand  us  up  the  welcome  ten, 
Which  we’ll  remit  without  delay, 

And  which  he’ll  never  see  again. 

Sweet  are  the  whispered  words  of  love; 
And  sweet  the  poet’s  honied  rhymes; 

But  sweeter  far,  where’er  we  rove, 

The  memories  of  those  good  old  times! 

Such  are  the  scenes  that  we  recall; 

And  still  perchance  for  them  we  mourn; 
But  have  a good  time — one  and  all, 

For  fellers,  San  Antonio’s  your’n. 


KILLING  AND  CAPTURING  BUFFALO  IN  KANSAS 

By  M.  A.  Withers  of  Lockhart,  Texas 

I was  born  in  Monroe  county,  Missouri,  September  23, 
1846.  I came  to  Texas  with  my  parents  and  settled  in 
Caldwell  county  in  November  1852  or  1853,  and  have  lived 
in  the  same  county  ever  since. 

In  1859,  when  I was  only  thirteen  years  old,  I made  my 
first  trip  on  the  trail.  I went  with  a herd  of  cows  and  calves 
from  Lockhart  to  Fredericksburg,  Texas.  The  cattle  were 
sold  to  Tom  and  Sam  Johnson  by  George  Haynes  at  $3.00 
per  head. 

My  next  trip,  in  1862,  was  from  Lockhart,  Texas,  to 
Shreveport,  La.,  with  a herd  of  steers  for  the  Confederate 
States  government.  George  Haynes  was  the  contractor  and 
S.  H.  Whittaker  was  the  boss.  After  arriving  at  Shreveport, 
a herd  of  steers,  too  poor  for  Confederate  soldiers  to  eat, 
was  delivered  to  us  to  be  driven  to  the  Brazos  River  and 
turned  loose  on  the  range.  I rode  one  horse  on  this  entire 
trip.  I was  to  get  two  dollars  per  day  and  board.  I got  the 
board,  consisting  of  cornbread,  bacon,  and  sometimes  coffee, 
but  I never  got  the  two  dollars  per  day  promised  me.  On 
my  return  to  Lockhart  I joined  the  Confederate  Cavalry  and 


82 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


served  to  the  end  of  the  war  in  Company  I,  36th  Texas 
Cavalry. 

I left  Lockhart,  Texas,  April  1,  1868,  with  a herd  of  600 
big  wild  steers.  The  most  of  them  belonged  to  my  father, 
brothers,  and  myself.  I bought  some  of  them  at  $10.00 
per  head  to  be  paid  for  when  I returned  from  the  drive.  I 
had  eight  hands  and  a cook,  all  of  whom  are  dead  except 
myself.  We  crossed  the  Colorado  River  at  Austin,  the 
Brazos  River  at  Waco,  the  Trinity  River  where  Fort  Worth 
now  is.  Only  one  or  two  stores  were  there  then.  We 
crossed  the  Red  River  where  Denison  now  is,  and  the 
Arkansas  River  at  Fort  Gibson,  then  traveled  up  the  north  side 
of  the  Arkansas  River  to  Wichita,  Kansas,  which  then  con- 
sisted of  a log  house  used  for  a store. 

Before  we  reached  Wichita,  I went  several  miles  ahead  of 
the  herd  and  stopped  at  a large  lake  to  get  a drink  of  water 
and  water  my  horse.  Suddenly  my  horse  became  restless 
and  when  I looked  up  I saw  seven  Osage  Indians  coming 
helter-skelter  straight  for  me.  Maybe  you  think  I wasn’t 
scared,  but  I surely  was.  I could  not  run  for  the  lake  was 
on  one  side  and  the  Indians  on  the  other.  I thought  my 
time  had  come.  They  ran  their  horses  up  to  me  and  stopped. 
All  had  guns,  and  I thought  they  were  the  largest  ones  I had 
ever  seen.  There  I was  with  my  back  to  the  lake  and  with 
only  my  horse  between  me  and  the  Indians  who  were  look- 
ing at  me. 

After  looking  at  me  for  a few  minutes,  the  big  chief  held 
out  his  hand  and  said  “how,”  and  then  asked  for  tobacco. 

I did  not  give  him  my  hand,  but  I gave  him  all  the  tobacco 
I had.  It  was  a great  relief  to  me  when  I saw  them  whirl 
their  horses  and  leave  in  as  big  a hurry  as  they  came. 

A few  days  later  we  killed  and  barbecued  a beef.  Early 
the  next  morning  one  of  the  boys,  who  was  with  the  herd 
came  running  into  camp  and  shouting,  “Indians!  Indians!” 
We  looked  up  and  saw  about  thirty  Osage  Indians  coming 
as  fast  as  their  horses  could  run  straight  for  our  camp.  Each 
Indian  gave  the  customary  greeting,  “how,”  and  all  placed 
their  guns  around  a tree.  They  made  short  work  of  our 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


83 


barbecued  meat,  and  then  began  to  pick  up  the  things 
scattered  about  the  wagon. 

They  asked  us  to  give  them  a beef  and  we  gladly  gave 
them  a “stray”.  They  butchered  it,  and  immediately  began 
to  eat  it.  While  they  were  thus  engaged,  we  moved  the  herd 
away  as  quickly  as  possible. 

We  continued  our  journey  to  Abilene,  Kansas,  reaching 
there  about  July  1,  1868.  Between  Wichita  and  Abilene  we 
found  the  skull  of  a man  with  a bullet  hole  in  the  forehead. 
Whose  skull  it  was  we  never  knew.  After  reaching  Abilene, 
we  established  our  summer  camp  on  the  Chatman  Creek, 
twelve  miles  north  of  Abilene,  Kansas.  We  discharged 
four  hands  and  kept  the  others  to  range-herd  the  cattle  until 
fall  when  I sold  the  steers  W.  K.  McCoy  & Bros,  of  Cham-  ^ 
pagne,  Illinois,  for  $28.00  per  head.  The  cattle  were  worth 
from  $8.00  to  $10.00  per  head  in  Texas  and  the  expenses 
were  about  $4.00  per  head.  The  steers  were  not  road- 
branded  and  we  reached  there  with  a full  count.  I received 
$1,000  in  cash  and  the  remainder  in  drafts  on  Donald 
Lawson  & Co.,  of  New  York  City,  signed  by  W.  K.  McCoy 
& Bros.  One  of  these  drafts  for  a small  amount  was  never 
paid  and  I still  have  it  in  my  safe.  I would  like  to  collect 
it  now  with  compound  interest. 

On  our  trip  from  Lockhart,  Texas  to  Abilene,  Kansas,  we 
found  plenty  of  grass  and  water.-  The  cattle  arrived  in 
Abilene  in  fine  condition  and  were  rolling  fat  when  sold. 

After  selling  out,  we  bought  new  wagons  and  harness  and 
made  work  horses  out  of  our  cow  ponies.  We  sent  the  boys 
through  Arkansas  and  loaded  the  wagons  with  red  apples. 
After  reaching  Texas,  they  placed  an  apple  on  a twig  on 
the  front  end  of  the  wagon  and  began  to  peddle  them. 
They  reached  a fine  price  for  those  that  they  did  not  eat 
or  give  away  to  the  girls  along  the  road. 

I went  from  Abilene,  Kansas,  to  St.  Louis,  Mo.,  and  took 
the  last  steamer  down  the  Mississippi  River,  which  would 
reach  New  Orleans  before  Christmas.  It  took  eleven  days 
to  make  the  trip,  for  the  boat  stopped  at  every  landing  and 
added  chickens,  turkeys,  ducks,  etc.,  to  her  cargo.  There  was 
a dance  on  deck  each  night  except  Sunday  night.  I came 


84 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


from  New  Orleans  to  Galveston,  Texas,  by  steamer;  from 
Galveston  to  Columbus  by  train,  and  from  Columbus  to 
Lockhart  by  stage  and  arrived  at  home  on  Christmas  day, 

1868. 

In  the  summer  of  1868  1 was  chosen  to  go  with  Joe 
G.  McCoy  and  a party  to  Fossil  Creek  Siding  on  the  Kansas 
Pacific  Railway  for  the  purpose  of  roping  buffalo  bulls 
to  be  sent  east  as  an  advertisement.  It  had  been  found 
that  by  advertising  a large  semi-monthly  public  sale  of  stock 
cattle  to  take  place  at  the  shipping  yards  at  Abilene,  Kansas, 
a ready  market  had  been  found  for  the  stock  cattle.  Buyers 
were  also  needed  for  grown  cattle.  The  plan  adopted  to 
call  attention  to  the  fact  was  to  send  east  a car  load  of 
wild  buffaloes,  covering  the  side  of  the  car  with  advertise- 
ments of  the  cattle.  But  how  to  get  the  buffaloes  was  the 
next  point  to  be  considered. 

The  slats  of  an  ordinary  stock  car  were  greatly  strengthened 
by  bolting  thick  planks  parallel  with  the  floor,  and  about 
three  feet  above  it,  to  the  sides  of  the  car.  One  half  dozen 
horses,  well  trained  to  the  lasso,  were  placed  in  one  car  and 
in  the  other  were  six  men  with  supplies.  Both  cars  departed 
for  the  buffalo  region.  In  the  party  chosen  were  four  Texas 
cowboys,  Jake  Carroll,  Tom  Johnson,  Billy  Campbell  and 
myself,  also  two  California  Spaniards,  all  experts  with  the 
rope. 

On  the  afternoon  of  our  arrival  on  the  buffalo  range  we 
started  out  to  capture  our  first  buffalo.  After  riding  for  a 
short  while,  we  saw  a moving  object  in  the  distance  which 
we  supposed  was  the  desired  game.  We  followed  and  saw 
that  it  was  a man  after  an  animal.  We  thought  it  was 

an  Indian  after  a buffalo. 

All  of  us,  with  the  exception  of  Tom  Johnson,  who  rode 
away  to  the  right,  started  in  pursuit  of  the  desired  game. 
We  soon  discovered  what  we  supposed  was  an  Indian  and  a 
buffalo  was  a white  man  driving  a milch-cow  to  the  section 

house.  He  ran  to  the  section  house  and  told  them,  that  the 

Indians  had  chased  him  and  were  coming  straight  to  the 

house.  He  said  that  one  long-legged  Indian  riding  a white 
horse  tried  to  spear  him.  The  supposed  Indian  on  the  white 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


85 


JOE  S.  CLARK 


JACK  MULHALL 


L.  B.  ANDERSON 


A.  W.  CAPT 


86 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


horse  was  none  other  than  Tom  Johnson,  who  was  about 
four  hundred  yards  away  from  the  man.  When  we  reached 
the  section  house,  the  men  had  barricaded  themselves  in  the 
dugout  awaiting  the  arrival  of  the  Indians.  They  supposed 
we  were  Indians  until  we  were  close  enough  for  them  to  tell 
we  were  white  men.  They  came  out  and  told  us  what  the 
frightened  man  had  told  them. 

During  our  hunt  we  had  to  guard  our  horses  at  night  from 
the  savages.  We  saw  three  small  parties  of  Indians,  and  one 
bunch  gave  some  of  us  a little  chase  over  the  prairies. 

The  next  morning  after  our  arrival  we  spied  seven  buffalo 
bulls  on  the  north  side  of  the  Saline  River  and  preparations 
were  made  to  capture  them.  Two  of  them  refused  to  cross 
the  river  and  when  I attempted  to  force  one  to  cross  he 
began  to  fight  and  1 shot  him  with  my  Navy  six  shooter. 
This  was  the  first  buffalo  I ever  killed.  The  others  were 
started  in  the  direction  of  the  railway  and  when  in  several 
hundred  yards  of  it  two  of  them  were  captured.  The  two 
Spaniards  roped  one,  and  Billy  Campbell  and  I roped  the 
other  one.  The  buffalo  charged  first  at  one  and  then  the 
other  of  us.  He  would  drop  his  head,  stiffen  his  neck,  and 
await  for  us  to  come  near  him,  then  chase  one  of  his 
captors  until  there  was  no  hope  of  catching  him,  then  turn 
and  go  after  the  other. 

When  he  was  near  the  track,  a third  rope  was  placed 
around  his  hind  legs  and  in  a moment  he  was  laying  stretched 
out  on  the  ground.  Our  well  trained  horses  watched  his 
movements  and  kept  the  ropes  tight.  After  he  ceased  to 
struggle,  his  legs  were  tied  together  with  short  pieces  of  rope, 
then  the  lariats  were  taken  off,  and  the  buffalo  was  lifted 
into  the  car  by  means  of  a block  and  tackle,  one  end  was 
fastened  to  the  buffalo’s  head  and  the  other  to  the  top  of  the 
car  on  the  opposite  side.  After  his  head  was  securely  bound 
to  a part  of  the  car  frame,  his  feet  were  untied.  Sometimes 
the  buffalo  would  sulk  for  hours  after  being  loaded  and  show 
no  desire  to  fight. 

In  about  a week  we  captured  twenty-four  buffalo  bulls. 
Some  of  them  died  from  heat  and  anger  caused  by  capture, 
others  became  sullen  and  laid  down  before  they  were  gotten 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


87 


near  the  cars,  and  only  twelve  were  successfully  loaded  and 
started  on  the  road  to  Chicago. 

It  was  very  interesting  to  see  how  well-trained  were  the 
horses.  They  seemed  to  know  what  movements  to  make  to 
counteract  those  of  the  captured  animal.  It  was  almost 
impossible  to  entangle  them  in  the  rope  for  they  knew  by 
experience  the  consequences  of  being  entangled. 

After  hanging  upon  each  side  of  the  cars  an  advertisement 
of  the  cattle  near  Abilene,  they  were  sent  to  Chicago  via 
St.  Louis,  causing  much  newspaper  comment.  Upon  reach- 
ing Chicago,  the  buffalo  were  sent  to  the  fair  grounds  where 
the  two  Spaniards,  Billie  Campbell,  and  1 roped  them  again 
to  show  the  people  how  it  was  done.  This  advertising  feat 
was  followed  by  an  excursion  of  Illinois  cattlemen  to  the 
West.  The  people  were  taken  to  the  prairie  near  Abilene 
and  shown  the  many  fine  herds  of  cattle.  Several  people 
invested  in  these  cattle,  and  in  a short  time  the  market  at 
Abilene  assumed  its  usual  life  and  activity.  The  year  of  1868 
closed  with  Abilene’s  success  as  a cattle  market  of  note. 
Soon  Texas  cattle  became  in  great  demand  for  packing 
purposes. 

Later  in  the  fall  of  the  same  year,  1868,  I went  on  a hunt 
with  a party  about  seventy-five  miles  south  of  Abilene  to  the 
valley  between  the  Big  and  Little  Arkansas  Rivers,  where  we 
saw  countless  numbers  of  buffalo.  As  far  as  we.  could  see 
the  level  prairies  were  black  with  buffaloes.  The  grass  was 
eaten  off  as  smooth  as  a floor  behind  these  thousands  of 
animals.  We  killed  all  we  wanted  in  a very  short  time. 

In  1872  on  the  Smoky  River  near  Hays  City,  Kansas, 
while  with  a herd  of  cattle  we  had  a big  stampede.  While 
running  in  the  lead  of  the  steers,  I saw  by  a flash  of  light- 
ning that  I was  on  the  edge  of  a big  bluff  of  the  river.  There 
was  nothing  left  for  me  to  do  but  jump,  so  I spurred  my 
horse  and  landed  in  the  river,  which  had  three  or  four  feet 
of  water  in  it.  Neither  my  horse  nor  I was  hurt,  although 
some  of  the  steers  were  killed  and  many  crippled. 

While  riding  that  same  horse  that  fall  in  Nevada,  he  fell 
into  a prospector’s  hole  full  of  snow,  and  both  of  us  had  to 
be  pulled  out. 


88 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


On  this  same  trip  between  Fort  Steele  on  the  North  Platte 
River  and  Independence  Rock  on  the  Sweetwater,  we  crossed 
a desert,  which  was  seventy  miles  across.  There  was  no 
grass  or  water  except  some  alkali  lakes,  which  were  not  good 
for  man  or  beast.  On  the  banks  of  one  of  these  lakes  I 
found  what  I thought  were  pretty  rocks.  I picked  up  a few, 
and  later  showed  them  to  a jeweler  who  told  me  that  they 
were  moss  agates  and  that  they  made  fine  sets  for  rings  or 
pins  and  were  very  valuable. 

Soon  after  crossing  the  desert  two  of  our  men  quit,  and  as 
we  were  far  from  any  human  habitation  and  in  an  Indian 
country  I have  often  wondered  what  became  of  them.  We 
found  game  of  all  kinds,  fine  grass,  and  water  on  this  trip. 
The  Indians  made  two  attempts  to  get  our  horses,  but  they 
did  not  succeed.  I sold  this  herd  of  3400  two-year  old 
steers  and  heifers  to  Tabor  & Rodabush  at  $20.00  per  head, 
delivered  at  Humbolt  Wells,  Nevada.  I also  sold  the  horses  to 
them  at  the  same  price.  Our  horses  gave  out  and  we  walked 
most  of  the  last  five  hundred  miles.  Bart  Kelso  of  Pleasan- 
ton, Texas,  was  with  me  on  this  trip. 

While  following  the  trail  I was  in  a number  of  storms. 
During  a storm  in  1882  while  I was  delivering  cattle  to  Gus 
Johnson,  he  was  killed  by  lightning.  G.  B.  Withers, 
Johnson  and  1 were  riding  together  when  the  lightning 
struck.  It  set  Johnson’s  undershirt  on  fire  and  his  gold 
shirt  stud,  which  was  set  with  a diamond,  was  melted 
and  the  diamond  was  never  found.  His  hat  was  torn  to 
pieces  and  mine  had  all  the  plush  burned  off  of  the  top. 
I was  not  seriously  hurt,  but  G.  B.  Withers  lost  one  eye  by 
the  same  stroke  that  killed  Johnson. 

I followed  the  trail  from  1868  to  1887.  I bought  cattle 
in  Texas  and  New  Mexico  and  drove  them  to  Kansas,  Colo- 
rado, Nebraska,  North  and  South  Dakota,  Montana,  Oregon, 
Wyoming,  Utah,  Idaho  and  Nevada.  My  first  herd  numbered 
600  Texas  steers.  The  largest  herd  I ever  drove  from  Texas 
was  4500  steers,  which  I drove'from  Fort  Griffin,  Texas, 
to  Dobie  Walls  in  what  was  then  known  as  “No  Man’s  Land.” 
These  cattle  were  sold  to  Gus  Johnson. 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


89 


At  different  times  while  driving  cattle  to  northern  markets 
I had  as  partners,  Bill  Montgomery,  George  Hill,  Dr.  John 
G.  Blanks,  Dick  Head  and  Jesse  Pressnall.  Some  years  we 
had  five  or  six  herds,  each  herd  numbering  from  2000  to 
3000  steers.  At  first  we  could  buy  cattle  in  Texas  on  time 
and  sell  them  in  Kansas  and  the  territories  for  cash,  but  the 
last  few  years  1 drove  we  had  to  pay  cash  for  cattle  and  sell  to 
northern  buyers  on  credit,  and  then  I quit  the  trail. 

I had  a number  of  flattering  offers  to  remain  north  in  the 
cattle  business,  but  1 loved  Texas  so  well  that  I always 
returned  after  each  drive. 


ON  THE  TRAIL  TO  NEBRASKA 

By  Jeff  D.  Farris  of  Bryan,  Texas 

I was  born  in  1861  on  a farm  in  Madison  county,  Texas. 
My  parents  had  moved  to  the  country  from  Walker  county 
in  1858.  They  originally  came  from  Tennessee  to  Texas 
in  1850.  When  my  father  located  in  Madison  county  there 
were  only  seven  white  men  in  the  neighborhood  where  he 
located.  My  wife’s  father  hauled  the  first  load  of  iron  that 
was  put  on  the  ground  to  build  up  our  state  penitentiary, 
which  now  covers  twenty  acres  of  ground.  As  I grew  up  I 
remained  on  the  small  farm  we  cultivated,  and  in  the  spring 
I gathered  wild  horses,  and  helped  brand  cattle,  until  1881 
when  1 went  to  Bryan  with  a bunch  of  cattle,  where  I found 
an  outfit  going  to  Kansas  with  a herd  belonging  to  Colonel 
Jim  Ellison  of  San  Marcos.  Tom  Taylor  was  the  boss  and  I 
decided  to  go  along  with  this  outfit  and  see  some  of  the 
country  that  I had  heard  so  much  about.  I have  been  told 
that  Tom  still  lives  at  Uvalde. 

We  had  2500  head  to  drive,  and  a force  of  ten  men,  some 
of  whose  names  1 can’t  recall.  One  was  named  Hamby,  and 
a one-armed  boy  named  Hugh  Strong.  We  went  north 
from  Bryan  to  Cleburne  and  Fort  Worth,  and  crossed  the  Red 
River  in  Montague  county.  Just  below  old  Fort  Sill  we 
struck  the  trail  for  Fort  Dodge,  Kansas,  and  passed  through 
the  Indian  Territory.  There  was  no  Oklahoma  in  those  days, 


90 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


When  we  reached  Fort  Dodge,  we  continued  north  until  we 
came  to  the  South  Platte  River,  and  from  there  to  Ogallala, 
Nebraska,  on  the  north  side  of  the  river,  where  I quit  the  out- 
fit and  came  home.  Ogallala  was  the  town  where  Sam  Bass, 
the  noted  outlaw,  made  his  headquarters  after  holding  up  the 
Union  Pacific.  He  later  came  to  Texas  and  was  killed  by 
the  Rangers  at  Round  Rock. 

I remained  at  home  until  the  spring  of  1883,  when  I went 
to  Hearne,  Texas  and  struck  out  with  an  outfit  going  to  San 
Angelo,  in  Tom  Green  county.  We  left  Hearne  about  the 
10th  of  May  and  reached  San  Angelo  the  later  part  of  July. 

In  1885  I married  the  sweetest  woman  in  all  the  country 
and  to  our  union  were  born  five  boys  and  three  girls,  all  of 
whom  are  living  except  one.  I am  living  within  half  a mile 
of  where  I was  born. 


ECHOES  OF  THE  CATTLE  TRAIL 

By  Jerry  M.  Nance  of  Kyle,  Texas 

I left  Hays  county,  Texas,  on  April  1 5th,  1877,  bound  for 
Cheyenne,  Wyoming,  with  2100  cattle,  forty  head  of  ponies 
and  two  yoke  of  oxen  with  the  chuck  wagon.  The  country 
was  open,  no  fences  to  bother  us.  We  crossed  the  Colorado 
about  four  miles  below  Austin,  and  went  through  Belton. 
We  camped  one  night  near  Belton,  and  while  there  it  came  a 
heavy  rain.  From  here  we  moved  out  several  miles  the  next 
morning  to  where  there  was  grass,  and  where  we  stopped  for 
breakfast.  After  we  had  been  there  about  an  hour  I saw  a 
man  ride  up  and  begin  looking  over  the  herd.  After  he  had 
looked  through  closely  he  came  over  to  the  camp,  and  I asked 
him  if  he  found  any  of  his  cattle  in  the  herd..  He  said  no. 
I asked  him  to  get  down  and  have  breakfast  with  us,  explain- 
ing that  our  breakfast  was  late  on  account  of  leaving  Belton 
so  early  that  morning  to  get  out  where  there  was  grazing 
for  the  cattle.  He  said  he  lived  where  we  had  camped  the 
night  before,  and  when  he  got  up  the  next  morning  he  did 
not  see  his  small  bunch  of  cattle  and  thought  we  had  driven 
them  off  with  our  herd.  He  probably  found  them  when  he 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


91 


returned  home.  We  crossed  the  Brazos  above  Waco.  The  river 
was  on  a rise  and  it  was  so  wide  that  all  of  the  cattle  were 
in  the  river  swimming  at  the  same  time,  and  it  looked  as  if  I 
had  no  cattle  at  all,  for  all  we  could  see  was  the  horns.  A 
boat  helped  us  get  the  chuck  wagon  across.  One  of  the  boys 
was  taken  sick  the  next  day,  and  went  back  home.  When 
we  reached  Fort  Worth,  then  a small  village,  we  bought 
enough  supplies  from  York  & Draper  to  carry  us  through  to 
Dodge  City,  Kansas. 

We  crossed  the  Red  River  at  Red  River  Station,  into  the 
Indian  Territory.  After  leaving  this  point  we  saw  no  more 
white  people,  except  those  with  herds,  until  we  reached 
Dodge  City.  When  we  reached  the  Washita  River  it  was  up 
and  hard  to  cross.  There  I met  Joel  Collins  of  Goliad. 
He  had  just  crossed  and  had  made  a raft  of  three  big  logs 
tied  together  with  ropes.  I exchanged  some  of  my  ropes  for 
his  raft  and  used  it  in  ferrying  my  stuff  across.  The  next  day 
I put  the  cattle  to  swimming  the  river,  which  had  a very 
swift  current.  At  first  they  would  not  take  the  water,  but 
I cut  off  bunches  of  about  seventy-five  to  a hundred  and  put 
them  to  moving  Indian  fashion  and  shoved  them  right  off  into 
the  water.  Some  of  them  would  turn  and  try  to  come  back, 
but  the  swift  current  had  carried  them  down  to  where  the 
steep  banks  on  this  side  kept  them  from  coming  out,  and 
they  had  to  go  across.  I crossed  the  whole  herd  in  this 
manner.  We  had  but  little  trouble  in  getting  the  horses 
across.  One  of  the  boys  had  a mule  in  the  outfit  which 
had  a pair  of  hopples  tied  around  his  neck,  and  in  swimming 
the  mule  passed  near  a willow  limb  that  had  been  broken 
off  by  the  cattle,  and  this  limb  had  caught  the  hopples  on 
the  mule’s  neck  and  held  him  there  swimming  in  the  water.  I 
told  the  man  who  owned  the  mule  th‘at  unless  those  hopples 
were  cut  loose  the  animal  would  drown.  It  was  a dangerous 
undertaking,  but  he  plunged  in  and  cut  the  hopples,  and  the 
mule  swam  across.  From  here  we  made  the  trip  all  right 
until  we  reached  the  North  Canadian,  which  was  also  on  a 
rise  and  all  over  the  bottom  lands.  We  waited  for  several 
days  for  the  flood  waters  to  subside,  but  all  to  no  use.  In 
the  meantime  other  herds  had  come  in  sight  and  for  fear  of 


92 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


bad  nights  and  a mix-up  I decided  to  make  a raft  and  go 
across.  The  cattle  were  started  across,  and  were  going  fine 
when  it  came  up  a terrific  hailstorm,  which  interrupted  the 
proceedings.  One  man  was  across  on  the  other  side  of  the 
river,  naked,  with  his  horse  and  saddle  and  about  half  of 
the  herd  and  the  balance  of  us  were  on  this  side  with  the 
other  half  of  the  herd  and  all  the  supplies.  There  was  no 
timber  on  our  side  of  the  river,  and  when  the  hail  began  pelt- 
ing, the  boys  and  myself  made  a break  for  the  wagon  for  shel- 
ter. We  were  all  naked,  and  the  hail  came  down  so  furiously 
that  within  a short  time  it  was  about  two  inches  deep  on  the 
ground.  It  must  have  hailed  considerably  up  the  river,  for 
the  water  was  so  cold  we  could  not  get  any  more  of  the  herd 
across  that  day.  We  were  much  concerned  about  getting 
help  to  the  man  across  the  river.  We  tried  all  evening  to 
get  one  of  the  boys  over,  to  carry  the  fellow  some  clothes, 
and  help  look  after  the  cattle,  but  failed  in  each  attempt. 
We  could  not  see  him  nor  the  cattle  on  account  of  the  heavy 
timber  on  the  other  side,  and  the  whole. bottom  was  covered 
with  water  so  that  it  was  impossible  for  him  to  come  near 
enough  to  hear  us  when  we  called  to  him.  The  water  was 
so  cold  that  horse  nor  man  could  endure  it,  and  in  trying  to 
cross  over  several  of  them  came  near  drowning,  and  were 
forced  to  turn  back,  so  the  man  on  the  other  side  had  to 
stay  over  there  all  night  alone  and  naked.!  I was  afraid  the 
Indians  would  run  the  cattle  off,  but  they  did  not  molest 
them.  Next  morning  everything  was  lovely  and  our  absent 
man  swam  back  to  us  after  he  had  put  the  cattle  in  shape. 
He  had  a good  saddle  blanket  which  he  said  had  kept  him 
comfortable  enough  during  the  night.  While  we  were  get- 
ting the  balance  of  the  cattle  across  one  of  my  Mexican 
hands  suffered  three  broken  ribs  and  a fractured  collarbone, 
by  his  horse  falling  with  him.  Some  movers  who  were 
waiting  for  the  river  to  fall,  agreed  to  convey  the  Mexican 
to  Fort  Reno,  twenty  miles  away,  for  me.  At  Fort  Reno  an 
army  surgeon  patched  him  up,  and  he  remained  there  until 
the  following  September  when  he  came  back  home. 

On  the  8th  of  June,  while  we  were  on  the  Salt  Fork  a 
cold  norther  blew  up,  accompanied  by  rain,  and  it  soon 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


93 


became  so  cold  we  had  to  stop  driving  about  three  o’clock 
in  the  afternoon,  and  gather  wood  for  the  night.  We  under- 
took to  hold  our  cattle  that  night  in  the  open,  but  it  was  so 
cold  that  we  finally  drifted  them  close  to  the  river  where 
there  was  a little  protection,  and  kept  a man  on  guard  to 
look  after  them.  About  daybreak  they  stampeded,  but  we 
soon  caught  them  without  loss  of  a single  head.  Eight 
ponies  belonging  to  other  herds  near  us  froze  to  death  that 
night. 

We  crossed  the  Arkansas  River  at  Dodge,  but  stopped  there 
one  day  only,  for  supplies.  At  this  place  we  saw  a number 
of  Texas  cattlemen  who  were  waiting  for  their  herds. 

We  crossed  the  Platte  River  at  Ogallala,  Nebraska,  and 
still  had  a long  stretch  to  cover  to  reach  Cheyenne.  Near 
Julesburg  we  came  to  a stone  dam  across  a little  creek. 
There  was  no  sign  of  a habitation  near  this  dam,  and  why 
it  was  placed  there,  and  who  contracted  it,  was  beyond  my 
comprehension. 

We  reached  Cheyenne  sometime  in  July,  after  having  been 
on  the  trip  for  about  three  months.  We  sold  our  cattle  and 
ponies  and  took  the  railroad  for  home. 

I also  drove  another  herd  of  two  thousand  head  of  cattle 
from  Hays  county  in  1880,  to  Dodge  City,  Kansas.  We 
crossed  the  Colorado  at  Webbersville,  and  after  crossing 
Brushy  Creek  near  Taylor,  we  struck  camp.  Just  before 
sundown  two  men  drove  up  in  a wagon,  and  one  of  them 
who  had  been  drinking,  ordered  us  to  move  on,  saying  we 
could  not  camp  there.  I told  him  he  had  arrived  too  late, 
for  we  were  going  to  remain  right  there.  He  said  he  would 
get  the  sheriff  to  come  and  move  us,  and  as  he  was  standing 
up  in  the  back  end  of  his  wagon  he  fell  out  when  the  driver 
started  the  team.  He  turned  a complete  somersault  and  fell 
hard  upon  the  ground.  If  he  had  been  sober  I am  sure  he 
would  have  broken  his  neck.  Picking  himself  up  he  clam- 
bered back  into  his  wagon,  and  drove  on  amid  the  yells  and 
whoops  of  my  boys.  That  was  the  last  we  saw  of  him. 

After  we  crossed  Gabriel  the  other  side  of  Taylor  we 
turned  west  and  went  by  Lampasas,  and  quit  the  trail  on 
account  of  water.  We  passed  through  Comanche  and  struck 


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THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


the  trail  again  in  Brown  county.  When  we  reached  Fort 
Griffin  we  purchased  supplies  to  last  us  until  we  reached 
Dodge,  Kansas.  We  crossed  the  Brazos  high  up  where  there 
was  not  much  water  in  it,  and  the  water  it  did  contain  was 
so  salty  our  cattle  would  not  drink  it.  At  Doan’s  Store  we 
crossed  Red  River  when  it  was  very  low,  and  I was  glad  of  it. 
We  drove  on  through  the  Territory  until  we  reached  Dodge. 
We  were  bothered  some  by  Indians  on  this  trip. 

In  1881  I sold  a herd  of  two  thousand  head  of  cattle  to 
be  delivered  at  Ogallala,  Nebraska,  on  the  Platte  River. 
I did  not  go  up  the  trail  with  this  herd  that  year. 

In  1883  I became  part  owner  in  a ranch  in  Jeff  Davis 
county.  I shipped  my  cattle  out  there  and  ranched  them 
ten  years  with  the  Toyah  Land  & Cattle  Company.  In  1885 

I drove  three  thousand  steer  yearling  out  there,  which  1 
bought  at  Columbus,  Texas.  We  went  by  way  of  Blanco, 
Fredericksburg,  Mason  San  Angelo,  up  the  Main  Concho 
and  across  the  plains  to  Fort  Stockton.  We  also  had  ninety 
ponies  along.  That  was  too  many  cattle  to  have  in  one 
herd,  and  they  did  not  do  well.  Water  was  scarce,  and 
being  late  in  the  season  , one  sixty  mile  drive  from  the  head 
of  the  Concho  to  the  Pecos  River  without  water,  was  a pretty 
hard  trip,  worse  than  going  to  Kansas. 

In  1887  we  shipped  two  thousand  head  from  the  ranch 
to  Big  Springs,  and  drove  them  across  to  Coolidge,  Kansas, 
where  we  sold  them  out.  Part  of  them  were  shipped  west 
to  Pueblo,  Colorado,  and  part  of  them  were  driven  back  to 
Fort  Sill  in  the  Indian  Territory,  and  delivered  there. 

In  1888  we  drove  two  thousand  head  to  Panhandle  City. 
We  sold  some  of  them  to  be  delivered  above  Amarillo,  and 
the  remainder  were  driven  on  to  Kiowa  and  sold  there.  In 
driving  this  herd  across  the  plains  from  the  Pecos  River  to 
Warfield,  a station  ten  miles  west  of  Midland,  1 had  made 
arrangements  with  a ranchman  at  Warfield  to  have  enough 
water  pumped  up  for  two  thousand  head  of  cattle.  He  had 
a windmill  and  troughs  for  watering  and  charged  five  cents 
per  head.  We  could  water  only  about  one  hundred  and  fifty 
head  at  a time,  so  it  took  some  time  to  water  them  all. 
When  we  had  the  last  bunch  in  the  pen  late  that  evening 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


95 


a heavy  hailstorm  and  rain  came  up  and  scattered  our  herd. 
Everybody  stayed  with  the  herd  which  began  to  drift  with 
the  storm’s  course.  Some  of  the  boys  used  blankets  and 
heavy  gloves  to  protect  their  heads.  We  had  one  bald- 
headed  man  in  the  outfit,  and  when  the  hailstorm  was 
over  he  was  a sight  to  behold.  He  had  welts  and  bruises 
all  over,  and  lots  of  hide  had  been  peeled  off.  The  hail 
had  beaten  the  grass  into  the  ground,  and  killed  lots  of 
jack  rabbits  in  the  vicinity.  We  lost  about  a hundred  head 
of  cattle  during  the  storm,  and  they  were  the  last  ones  to 
water  in  the  pen.  We  found  them  the  next  day  several  miles 
away. 

In  the  fall  of  1888  we  shipped  about  two  thousand  head 
to  Colorado  City  and  Sweetwater  to  winter  on  account  of 
no  grass  at  the  ranch,  and  in  the  spring  of  1889  we  gathered 
them  to  ship  out.  Those  at  Colorado  City  were  put  in  a 
small  five  section  pasture  for  a few  days  before  shipping 
them  north.  While  they  were  in  this  little  pasture  a cyclone 
came  along  and  killed  about  one  hundred  and  fifty  two  to 
five-year-old  steers  and  crippled  about  a hundred  others  for 
us.  The  cyclone  was  only  about  one  hundred  yards  and 
went  through  about  a mile  of  pasture,  leaving  everything 
trimmed  clean  in  its  path.  Even  the  mesquite  switches  had 
all  the  bark  pulled  off.  Deer,  rabbits,  owls,  snakes,  and 
many  other  animals  were  to  be  found  in  its  wake. 

In  1889  the  trail  driving  was  at  an  end,  and  cattlemen 
generally  began  shipping  by  rail. 


REMINISCENCES  OF  OLD  TRAIL  DRIVING 

By  J.  M.  Hankins,  2923  South  Presa  St. 

San  Antonio,  Texas 

1 was  born  in  1851  near  Prairie  Lea,  in  Caldwell  county, 
Texas,  and  remember  when  the  Civil  War  began  and  the 
many  hard  trials  experienced  during  that  period. 

It  was  in  1868  that  I recall  the  first  herd  of  cattle  driven 
from  Prairie  Lea  “up  the  trail,”  though  possibly  Col.  Jack 
Myers  and  others  at  Lockhart  had  driven  earlier.  That  year 


96 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


Baker  & Duke,  merchants,  bought  some  steers  and  ex- 
changed merchandise  for  them.  Father  and  others  put  in 
a-  few  head,  and  I put  in  a five  year  old  steer  for  which  I 
received  a pair  of  shoes,  a straw  hat  and  a linen  coat,  the 
value  of  all  being  about  ten  dollars,  but  I was  fully  rigged 
out  for  Sunday  wear,  and  was  satisfied  with  my  deal. 

After  1868  the  drives  became  general  and  large  herds 
could  be  seen  on  the  Lockhart  trail  from  March  to  August. 
I very  often  helped  local  buyers  get  up  bunches  of  Kansas 
cattle  as  they  were  called,  and  in  1871  I was  employed  by 
Smith  Brothers  at  Prairie  Lea  to  go  “up  the  trail.”  I furnished 
my  own  mounts,  three  corn-fed  horses,  which  they  agreed  to 
feed  until  grass  came.  We  left  Prairie  Lea  the  latter  part  of 
February  for  San  Miguel  Creek,  went  to  San  Antonio,  and 
expected  to  be  absent  about  thirty  days.  We  failed  to 
gather  the  cattle  we  expected  to  on  the  San  Miguel,  so  we 
were  ordered  to  move  on  to  the  Nueces  River  where  Jim 
and  Tobe  Long  and  others  put  up  a herd  for  them.  We  got 
back  to  the  San  Marcos  River  about  the  1 5th  of  May,  with- 
out having  had  a bushel  of  corn  for  our  horses  after  leaving 
San  Antonio.  The  country  was  very  dry,  no  water  from  one 
river  to  the  other,  no  grass  nearer  than  three  miles  out.  Those 
who  worked  soon  got  afoot.  Between  the  Cibolo  and  Guad- 
alupe Rivers,  I swapped  horses  twice  in  one  day,  the  last 
time  with  a negro,  and  got  a small  pony  which  seemed  to  be 
fat.  That  was  all  I saw  until  he  took  his  saddle  off,  when 
a foot  of  hide  stuck  to  the  blanket.  The  boys  set  up  a big 
laugh,  but  1 “scaffold’  up,  threw  my  “hull’  on  and  galloped 
around  the  herd.  It  beat  walking  and  punching  the  “dogies” 
at  the  rear.  I was  promoted  right  then  to  the  flank. 

That  night  1 experienced  the  first  stampede.  Early  in  the 
night  it  had  rained,  and  I was  on  the  watch.  The  herd 
began  drifting,  and  the  boss  and  several  others  came  out  to 
help  with  the  cattle,  and  after  the  rain  ceased  we  got  them 
stopped,  when  Rany  Fentress,  a negro  who  had  been  in 
stampedes  before,  came  to  where  I was  in  the  lead  and  told 
me  to  move  further  away.  About  that  time  some  of  the  boys 
struck  a match  to  light  a pipe,  and  the  flare  frightened  the 
big  steers,  and  they  began  to  run.  1 was  knocked  down  three 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


97 


W.  E.  LAUGHLIN 


M.  A.  WITHERS 


JUDGE  S.  H.  WOODS 


C.  H.  RUST 


98 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


times,  but  managed  to  stay  with  my  pony,  and  came  out  with 
the  drags  which  I stayed  with  until  daylight. 

After  we  crossed  the  San  Marcos  River  the  boys  began 
leaving  for  home,  but  I remained  until  the  boss  said  I could 
not  go  until  the  others  returned.  At  this  I rebelled,  “cut 
my  bedding,”  rounded  up  my  “crow  bait”  and  pulled 
out  for  home,  where  I stayed  two  days.  Father  insisted 
that  I go  back.  I told  him  I had  nearly  killed  three  horses, 
which  they  never  fed  as  they  agreed  to.  But  1 went  back 
with  a fresh  mount,  and  got  “fired”  just  as  the  herd  was 
ready  to  start  on  the  trail.  Smith  Bros,  went  “busted”  that 
year. 

In  1874  I left  home  again  in  February  with  Ellison  & 
Dewees,  with  young  Jim  Ellison  as  boss.  We  went  to  San 
Antonio  where  we  received  a bunch  of  cow  ponies,  and  then 
established  camp  near  the  Cibolo,  where  the  Lowe  cattle 
were  received  and  started.  Our  camp  was  the  catch  and 
cut-out  for  all  the  other  bosses.  Young  Jim  Ellison  took  the 
first  herd  with  all  negro  hands  about  the  9th  of  March. 
Jim  Rowden  took  the  second  herd,  and  so  on,  till  all  the 
Lowe  cattle  were  received  and  started.  Our  outfit  then 
went  to  Burnett  county  and  received  our  herd  from  Oatman, 
mostly  wild  mountain  steers. 

When  we  were  nearing  Red  River  we  threw  in  with  Peter 
Smith,  making  one  large  herd,  with  which  I stayed  until  we 
arrived  at  Dodge  City,  Kansas.  Our  trip  was  like  most 
others,  sometimes  good,  and  at  other  times  pretty  tough, 
especially  when  the  cattle  stampeded  during  stormy  nights 
and  mixed  with  other  herds,  causing  no  end  of  worry  and 
trouble  and  often  forcing  us  to  go  without  our  breakfast  until 
10  or  11  o’clock  the  next  day.  But  as  soon  as  we  were  filled 
with  frijoles  and  black  coffee,  and  the  sun  shone  clear,  we 
were  jolly  and  happy  again. 

One  little  incident  during  a run  on  a stormy  night  was 
amusing.  The  cattle  had  been  running  most  of  the  night, 
but  at  last  they  had  quieted  down.  We  saw  a light  a short 
distance  away  swinging  around,  and  heard  a voice  calling 
out  to  us.  We  supposed  it  was  the  cook,  and  the  boss  said 
some  ugly  words  about  the  cook  screaming  at  us,  and  sent 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


99 


a man  into  the  herd  to  find  out  what  he  wanted.  It  turned 
out  to  be  a man  standing  on  the  top  of  his  dug-out,  and  he 
was  in  great  distress.  The  cattle  had  crushed  in  the  roof  of 
his  domicile  and  one  had  fallen  through  into  his  bedroom  and 
disturbed  his  peaceful  slumbers. 

The  country  was  wild  and  unsettled  then,  and  from  the 
Red  River  to  the  Kansas  line  was  known  as  the  Indian 
Territory.  Montague  was  the  last  town  I saw  until  we 
reached  Great  Bend,  Kansas.  I might  add  incidents  but  as 
short  sketches  for  this  book  are  expected,  will  say  to  all  the 
old  cow-punchers  and  trail  drivers  of  Texas  that  I will  be 
glad  to  meet  any  of  you  and  talk  about  the  old  times  and 
the  pioneers  of  Texas. 


GOT  “WILD  AND  WOOLLY”  ON  THE  CHISHOLM  TRAIL 

By  J.  N.  Byler,  of  Dallas,  Texas 

I was  raised  in  East  Texas  and  worked  cattle  back  in  the 
piney  woods  and  cane  brakes  of  that  region.  Went  west 
after  the  Civil  War  and  worked  cattle  there.  The  range  was 
at  that  time  somewhat  overstocked  with  beef  cattle  and  bulls. 
A great  many  of  the  old  bulls  were  shipped  over  to  Cuba, 
and  supplied  the  natives  there  with  beef.  In  getting  them 
ready  to  ship  the  cowboys  would  rope  them  on  the  range, 
throw  them  down,  and  chop  the  points  of  their  horns  off  with 
an  axe  to  keep  them  from  hurting  each  other  on  the  boats: 
In  those  days  beef  cattle  on  the  range  were  worth  about  $10 
per  head.  A few  were  driven  to  Louisiana. 

In  1866  Monroe  Choate  and  B.  A.  Borroum  drove  a herd 
to  Iowa  to  find  a market.  They  crossed  Red  River  at  Colbert’s 
Ferry,  went  by  way  of  Boggy  Depot,  crossed  the  Arkansas 
at  Fort  Gibson,  and  then  struck  west  of  the  settlements  of 
Kansas. 

In  1867  Butler,  Baylor  & Rose  drove  a herd  to  Abilene, 
Kansas,  as  did  also  Pucket  & Rogers. 

In  1868  the  drives  were  pretty  heavy,  but  further  west, 
crossing  Red  Rver  at  Gainesville  In  1869  and  1870  they 
were  heavier  still,  most  of  the  herds  crossing  at  Red  River 


100 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


Station,  passing  east  of  old  Fort  Sill,  and  west  of  the  Indian 
and  negro  settlements,  over  which  route  water  and  grass  were 
plentiful.  This  was  known  as  the  old  Chisholm  trail.  When 
we  reached  Kansas  we  usually  found  plenty  of  buffalo.  When 
these  animals  were  disturbed  they  would  begin  to  travel 
northward.  That  is  where  the  expression  “wild  and  woolly” 
originated.  When  the  boys  reached  Abilene  or  some  other 
Kansas  town,  they  were  usually  long-haired  and  needing 
a barber’s  attention,  as  there  were  no  barbers  on  the  trail. 
Upon  being  asked  how  they  got  there,  they  would  sing  out: 
“Come  the  Chisholm  trail  with  the  buffalo  wild  and  woolly.” 


WITH  HERDS  TO  COLORADO  AND  NEW  MEXICO 

By  G.  W.  Scott,  of  Uvalde,  Texas. 

I was  born  at  Comfort,  Texas,  September  3,  1871,  and 
was  raised  on  a ranch.  In  1876  my  fahter  moved  to  Cole- 
man county,  but  in  1877  he  moved  to  Frio  county  and  bought 
a farm.  In  1888  I came  to  Uvalde,  and  in  the  spring  of 
1890  I hired  to  Paul  Handy  of  Colorado  to  drive  a herd  to 
that  state.  We  left  the  Plank  Pens  on  the  Leona  Ranch 
south  of  Uvalde  on  March  10th, 'with  our  herd  numbering 
2221  two-year-old  steers,  sixty-four  horses  and  eleven  men, 
including  the  cook.  We  crossed  the  Nueces  and  camped  the 
first  night  in  the  Moore  & Allen  pasture.  After  six  or  eight 
days  our  herd  was  easily  controlled,  especially  at  night. 
Grass  and  water  was  plentiful,  and  we  had  an  easy  time 
until  we  reached  Fort  McKavett,  where  I accidently  caused 
the  cattle  to  stampede  one  moonlight  night.  From  here  we 
drove  to  San  Angelo  and  stopped  one  night  near  that  town, 
which  at  that  time  was  a wide-open  place.  Several  of  the 
boys  went  in  to  see  the  sights  and  have  a good  time.  We 
drove  our  herd  across  the  plains  to  Quannah  where  we  were 
quarantined  for  several  weeks  on  account  of  Texas  fever. 
While  we  were  here  holding  our  cattle  it  came  up  a severe 
rainstorm  one  night  and  we  had  another  stampede,  the  steers 
going  in  all  directions,  running  over  wire  fences  and  going 
across  creeks  that  happened  to  be  in  their  course.  We  had 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


101 


thirteen  steers  killed  by  lightning  that  night.  When  day- 
light came  I was  about  four  miles  from  camp  with  four 
hundred  head  of  the  steers.  We  held  these  steers  at  Quan- 
nah  for  seven  weeks  before  being  allowed  to  proceed  on  to 
Colorado. 

In  1881  I went  with  a herd  to  White  Lake,  New  Mexico, 
for  James  Dalrymple,  starting  from  the  Leona  Ranch.  Most 
of  the  boys  in  this  outfit  were  from  the  Frio  Canyon,  and  I 
recall  the  names  of  Sam  Everts,  George  Leakey,  Tobe 
Edwards,  James  Crutchfield,  Os  Brown,  Allison  Davis  and 
Tip  Davis.  We  drove  2178  two-year-old  steers  this  trip, 
crossing  the  Nueces  River  at  Eagle  Pass  crossing.  We  headed 
north  toward  Devil’s  River,  which  we  crossed  above  Paint 
Cave.  At  this  time  the  range  was  dry,  and  water  scarce, 
and  many  of  our  cattle  gave  out  and  had  to  be  left  on  the 
trail.  We  reached  the  Pecos  River,  at  the  mouth  of  Live 
Oak,  where  we  rested  for  a few  days.  We  were  in  the  Seven 
D range  at  this  time,  and  Taylor  Stevenson  was  foreman  of 
the  Seven  D Ranch,  and  he  brought  his  outfit  and  helped  us 
work  up  the  Pecos  from  the  mouth  of  Live  Oak  to  Horse 
Head  Crossing,  where  we  left  the  thinnest  of  our  cattle,  and 
proceeded  on  our  journey.  Our  next  point  was  Midland, 
where  we  found  plenty  of  fine  grass  and  water.  After  leav- 
ing Midland  we  again  found  a dry  range  with  no  grass. 
When  we  reached  the  Colorado  River  that  stream  was  very 
low.  Here  I saw  my  first  buffalo,  but  it  was  a tame  animal 
and  was  branded  a long  S on  each  side.  Ed  Hagerman  of 
Kimble  county,  was  ahead  of  us  with  a herd  of  the  Half 
Circle  L C cattle.  After  a great  deal  of  hard  luck  and 
trouble  we  reached  Yellow  House  Draw  about  ten  miles  from 
Lubbock,  where  we  encountered  a heavy  hailstorm.  We  had 
lost  a great  many  of  our  cattle  on  the  trip,  and  the  sudden 
change  chilled  a number  of  others  to  death  as  well  as  five 
saddle  horses.  We  left  the  camp  at  this  point  with  only  1072 
head.  We  reached  White  Lake,  New  Mexico,  on  June  21, 
and  delivered  to  Mr.  Handy.  Here  we  found  Ham  Bee  and 
his  outfit  and  accompanied  them  back  to  Midland,  where  we 
took  the  train  for  Uvalde. 


102 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


RECOLLECTIONS  OF  OLD  TRAIL  DAYS 

By  B.  A.  Barroum,  of  Del  Rio,  Texas 

My  first  experience  on  the  trail  was  in  the  year  1870. 
About  the  first  of  April  of  that  year  I started  from  Monroe 
Choate’s  Ranch  in  Karnes  county  with  a herd  of  cattle  belong- 
ing to  Choate  & Bennett.  E.  B.  Rutledge  was  the  boss  and 
part  owner.  Among  the  hands  were  Jesse  McCarty,  Drew 
Lamb,  Ben  Johnson,  George  Blackburn,  John  Strait,  and  one 
or  two  others  whose  names  I have  forgotten.  Going  north 
all  the  time  we  crossed  the  Guadalupe  at  Gonzales,  the 
Colorado  at  Austin,  the  Brazos  at  Old  Fort  Graham,  the 
Trinity  at  Fort  Worth,  Red  River  at  Red  River  Station, 
the  Washita  at  Dr.  Steam’s,  the  Red  Fork  near  Turkey 
Creek  Stage  Stand  in  Kaw  Reservation,  the  Salt  Fork  at  Cow 
Creek  Station,  the  Arkansas  at  Wichita,  the  Smoky  at  Abilene, 
Kansas,  which  was  our  destination,  and  where  we  arrived 
about  July  first. 

Like  many  others,  when  I had  work  for  the  time  being 
1 did  not  think  I would  ever  make  another  trip  up  the  trail, 
but  also  like  many  others,  when  the  next  drive  came  I was 
“rearing”  to  go.  In  the  spring  of  1871  I again  went  up  with 
a herd  belonging  to  Choate  & Bennett,  with  Jack  Scroggin  as 
boss  and  part  owner.  The  hands  on  this  trip  were  W.  M. 
Choate,  John  Paschal,  Monroe  Stewart,  Joe  Copeland,  John 
Ferrier,  myself  and  John  Sumner,  the  cook.  We  started  from 
Rock  Creek,  Atascosa  county,  about  the  first  of  April,  and 
traveled  the  same  trail  after  coming  into  it  at  Gonzales 
through  to  Abilene.  We  went  into  the  Chisholm  Trail  about 
three  miles  below  Red  River  Station,  and  just  as  soon  as  we 
crossed  River  River  all  our  stock  seemed  to  go  wild,  especially 
our  horses,  although  we  did  not  come  into  contact  with  any 
buffalo  until  we  reached  a point  between  the  Red  Fork  and 
the  Salt  Fork  of  the  Arkansas  River.  Several  herds  lost 
heavily  at  that  time  by  cattle  and  horses  getting  into  the 
buffalo  drifts,  which  were  at  that  season  drifting  northward. 
These  animal  were  in  countless  numbers,  in  fact  the  whole 
face  of  the  earth  seemed  to'  be  literally  covered  with  them, 
all  going  in  the  same  direction.  The  drovers  were  compelled 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


103 


to  send  men  on  ahead  to  keep  them  from  stampeding  their 
herds.  On  a plain  about  half  way  between  the  Red  Fork 
and  the  Salt  Fork  we  had  to  stop  our  herds  until  the  buffalo 
passed.  Buffalo,  horses,  elk,  deer,  antelope,  wolves,  and 
some  cattle  were  all  mixed  together  and  it  took  several  hours 
for  them  to  pass,  with  our  assistance,  so  that  we  could  pro- 
ceed on  our  journey.  I think  there  were  more  buffalo  in 
that  herd  than  I ever  saw  of  any  living  thing,  unless  it  was  an 
army  of  grass-hoppers  in  Kansas  in  July,  1874.  Just  after 
we  crossed  the  Red  Fork  I went  on  ahead  of  the  herd  to  the 
Trinity  Creek  Stage  Stand,  a distance  of  about  six  miles,  and 
at  this  place  I found  the  present  president  of  the  Old  Trail 
Drivers’  Association,  George  W.  Saunders,  surrounded  by  a 
big  bunch  of  Kaw  Indians.  George  was  mounted  on  a little 
gray  bob-tailed  pony,  his  saddle  had  no  horn,  and  one  stirrup- 
leather  was  made  of  rawhide  and  the  other  was  a grass 
hopple.  He  was  trying  his  best  to  trade  those  Indians  out 
of  a buffalo  gun,  as  he  was  in  the  buffalo  range.  And  he 
made  the  deal.  I never  saw  him  again  until  after  we  reached 
Kansas,  when  the  drovers  made  up  an  outfit  to  bring  their 
horses  back  to  Texas.  George  and  I were  in  this  outfit  and 
we  came  back  the  trail  we  had  gone  up,  except  we  crossed 
Red  River  at  Gainesville  instead  of  at  Red  River  Station. 

I went  up  the  trail  again  in  1874,  starting  from  Druce 
Rachel’s  ranch  on  the  Nueces  bay  in  San  Patricio  county, 
March  2 5th.  This  herd  also  belonged  to  Choate  & Bennett, 
with  D.  C.  Choate  as  boss.  We  followed  the  same  trail  as 
previously  mentioned.  After  crossing  Red  River  we  stopped 
on  the  Ninnesquaw  for  the  summer,  and  shipped  out  in  the 
fall  from  Great  Bend.  The  Osage  Indians  being  on  a war- 
path, we  had  to  detour  our  horses  in  bringing  them  back  to 
Texas,  crossing  the  Arkansas  River  near  Coffeyville  into  the 
Cherokee,  Creek,  Chocktaw  and  Chickasaw  nations,,  crossing 
Red  River  at  Colbert’s  Ferry  near  Sherman  into  Texas. 

In  the  ’80s  I drove  several  herds  up  the  western  trail  to 
Dodge  City,  Kansas,  for  the  firm  of  Borroum  & Choate. 
I think  every  one  of  the  boys  that  went  up  with  the  herds 
mentioned  above  have  passed-  beyond  the  Divide  from  which 
no  mortal  returns,  except  Brown  (A.  B.)  Paschal  and  myself. 


104 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


SIXTY  YEARS  IN  TEXAS 

By  William  J.  Bennett,  of  Pearsall,  Texas 

My  father  moved  to  Texas  in  1848,  from  Randolph  county, 
Missouri,  and  settled  on  the  Trinity  River  about  five  miles 
from  Fort'  Worth,  which  was  at  that  time  an  Indian  Reserva- 
tion with  Lieutenant  Worth  in  command  of  the  post.  There 
was  only  one  store  there  then.  The  Indians  often  came  to 
my  father’s  house  and  were  friendly  to  the  few  white  settlers 
there.  Game  was  plentiful,  deer,  turkey,  buffalo  and  prairie 
chickens,  as  well  as  the  fiercer  animals.  We  lived  near  Fort 
Worth  four  or  five  years,  until  father  sold  out  to  a man 
named  Parker,  and  we  moved  above  Fort  Worth  some  twenty 
miles  to  Newark.  After  remaining  there  a few  years  we  then 
moved  down  to  Frio  county  in  the  fall  of  1858,  and  located 
on  the  Leona  River,  where  we  found  a fine  country,  with 
wild  game  and  fish  galore.  We  brought  with  us  about  four 
hundred  head  of  cattle,  which  were  allowed  to  roam  at  will 
over  the  excellent  range,  there  being  no  fences  to  keep  them 
confined  to  the  immediate  vicinity  of  our  ranch.  But  they  did 
not  get  far  away  from  us  for  some  time,  or  until  other  ranch- 
ers began  to  locate  around  us,  when  the  cattle  began  to  mix 
with  other  cattle  and  then  began  to  stray  off,  some  drifting 
as  far  as  the  Rio  Grande  or  the  coast.  Soon  the  settlers 
began  to  organize  cow  hunts  and  work  the  cattle.  I have 
been  on  cow  hunts  when  there  were  as  many  as  one 
hundred  men  working  together  from  different  counties. 
Stockmen  of  today  do  not  know  anything  about  the  hard 
work  and  the  strenuous  times  we  encountered  in  those  days, 
Sometimes  we  would  be  out  for  weeks  at  a time,  starting 
every  morning  at  daylight,  and  probably  not  getting  in  before 
dark,  tired  and  hungry,  and  having  to  do  without  dinner  all 
day.  Our  fare  consisted  of  cornbread,  black  coffee  and 
plenty  of  good  beef. 

We  were  not  bothered  by  the  Indians  very  much  until  the 
Civil  War,  when  the  troops  were  largely  withdrawn  from 
the  frontier  posts,  and  the  country  was  left  unprotected. 
The  Indians  came  in  great  numbers  then,  killing  many 
settlers  and  driving  off  a great  many  of  their  stock.  Also 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


105 


Mexican  cattle  thieves  became  troublesome,  and  stole  thous- 
ands of  cattle  off  the  range  which  they  would  drive  across 
the  Rio  Grande  into  Mexico.  Many  of  the  ranchmen  were 
compelled  to  take  their  families  back  to  the  settlements  for 
protection.  After  the  Civil  War  cattle  soon  became  plenti- 
ful on  the  range,  and  Sam  Allen  of  Powder  Horn  soon 
had  a monopoly  on  the  shipping  by  chartering  every  boat 
from  there  to  New  Orleans.  He  sent  men  out  all  over  the 
country  to  buy  fat  cattle,  which  made  times  pretty  good  for 
awhile,  but  as  no  one  could  ship  by  water  except  Allen,  the 
demand  was  soon  filled,  and  in  order  to  reach  the  market 
for  their  stock  the  cattlemen  began  driving  their  cattle  to 
Kansas.  In  1872  I took  my  first  herd,  starting  from  Uvalde 
and  going  up  that  long  and  lonesome  trail  to  Wichita, 
Kansas.  We  had  a pretty  good  time  going  up,  with  only 
a few  storms  and  stampedes,  and  lost  no  cattle.  We  crossed 
the  Red  River  at  Red  River  Station,  then  took  the  old  Chis- 
holm Trail  and  went  out  of  Indian  Territory  at  Caldwell, 
Kansas.  After  holding  my  herd  at  that  point  about  three 
months  I sold  to  A.  H.  Pierce,  and  came  home  by  way  of 
Kansas  City,  St.  Louis,  New  Orleans,  Galveston,  and  then 
to  Austin  on  the  new  railroad,  and  from  Austin  by  stage  to 
San  Antonio  and  Uvalde. 

In  1873  I took  another  herd  of  steers  up  the  trail.  Had 
a pretty  hard  time  that  trip  and  lost  many  head  of  cattle  and 
about  all  I received  from  them.  Nearly  all  of  the  Texas 
cattlemen  went  broke  that  year  as  it  was  the  year  of  the 
severe  panic,  when  silver  was  demonetized. 

During  the  years  1874  and  1875  occurred  what  is  still 
remembered  to  the  old  timers  as  the  “Big  Steal.”  Cattle 
were  driven  off  and  the  country  was  left  bare.  They  drove 
them  off  in  all  directions,  some  to  Kansas,  Wyoming,  Colo- 
rado, New  Mexico,  Arizona  and  California. 

Then  came  the  sheepmen  with  large  flocks,  and  prosperity 
again  smiled  upon  us.  With  the  advent  of  the  man  with 
the  plow,  the  sheepman  moved  further  west,  and  the  scream 
of  the  panther  and  the  howl  of  the  wolf  began  to  give  place 
to  the  whistle  of  the  locomotive  and  the  hum  of  the  cotton 
gin.  It  would  require  volumes  to  record  all  of  the  hardships 


106 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


and  dangers  we  went  through  during  the  sixty  years  1 have 
lived  in  the  west,  and  1 merely  contribute  this  brief  sketch 
to  add  my  testimony  to  that  of  the  other  pioneers  that 
helped  to  blaze  the  trail  through  the  wilderness. 

During  the  Civil  War  and  for  many  years  after  the  war 
the  people  of  this  station  hauled  their  supplies  out  from 
San  Antonio  in  ox  wagons,  and  in  looking  back  to  those 
times  and  comparing  them  with  the  present  we  cannot  but 
discern  the  great  change  that  has  been  wrought.  Our 
manner  of  travel  was  necessarily  slow  in  those  days. 
Sometimes  we  were  on  the  trail  for  four  and  five  months. 
It  usually  required  three  months  to  take  a herd  to  the  Red 
River.  Only  a few  days  ago  the  papers  gave  an  account 
of  an  aviator  flying  from  San  Antonio  to  Oklahoma  City, 
a distance  of  over  six  hundred  miles,  in  the  short  space  of 
three  hours!  Such  a feat  was  undreamed  of  in  those  old 
days,  and  if  even  a prediction  of  such  things  happening  had 
been  made  no  one  would  have  believed  it  would  ever  come 
to  pass.  May  we  not  venture  to  predict  that  in  another  sixty 
years  somebody  will  have  established  a trail  to  Mars  or 
other  planets,  and  our  descendants  may  be  signalling  the 
latest  market  quotations  to  the  cowmen  of  those  parts? 


HIGH  HEELED  BOOTS  AND  STRIPED  BREECHES 

By  G.  O.  Burrows,  of  Del  Rio,  Texas. 

1 had  my  share  of  the  ups  and  downs,  principally  downs, 
on  the  old  cattle  trail.  Some  of  my  experiences  were  going 
hungry,  getting  wet  and  cold,  riding  sore-backed  horses, 
going  to  sleep  on  herd  and  losing  cattle,  getting  “cussed’ 
by  the  boss,  scouting  for  “gray-backs,”  trying  the  “sick 
racket”  now  and  then  to  get  a night’s  sleep,  and  other 
things  too  numerous  to  mention  in  this  volume.  But  all 
of  these  were  forgotten  when  we  delivered  our  herd  and 
started  back  to  grand  old  Texas.  Have  often  stopped  a few 
days  in  Chicago,  St.  Louis  and  Kansas  City,  but  always  had 
the  “big  time”  when  1 arrived  in  good  old  Santone  rigged 
out  with  a pair  of  high-heeled  boots  and  spotted  breeches, 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


107 


and  about  $6.30  worth  of  other  clothes.  Along4  about 
sundown  you  could  find  me  at  Jack  Harris’  show  occupying 
a front  seat  and  clamoring  for  the  next  performance.  This 
“big  time”  would  last  but  a few  days,  however,  for  I would 
soon  be  “busted”  and  would  have  to  borrow  money  to  get 
out  to  the  ranch,  where  I would  put  in  the  fall  and  winter 
telling  about  the  big  things  I had  seen  up  north.  The  next 
spring  I would  have  the  same  old  trip,  the  same  old  things 
would  happen  in  the  same  old  way,  and  with  the  same  old 
wind-up.  I put  in  eighteen  or  twenty  years  on  the  trail, 
and  all  I had  in  the  final  outcome  was  the  high-heeled  boots, 
the  striped  pants  and  about  $4.80  worth  of  other  clothes, 
so  there  you  are. 


THE  GOOD  OLD  COWBOY  DAYS 

By  Luther  A.  Lawhon 

Mv  fancy  drifts  as  often,  through  the  murky,  misty  maze 

Of  the  past — to  other  seasons — to  the  good  old  cowboy  days, 

When  the  grass  wuz  green  an’  wavin’  an’  the  skies  wuz  soft 
and  blue, 

And  the  men  were  brave  an’  loyal,  and  the  women  fair  an’ 
true! 

The  old-time  cowboy — here’s  to  him,  from  hired  hand  to 
boss! 

His  soul  wuz  free  from  envy  and  his  heart  wuz  free  from 
dross, 

An’  deep  within  his  nature,  which  wuz  rugged,  high  and 
bold, 

There  ran  a vein  uv  metal,  and  the  metal,  men,  wuz  gold! 

He’d  stand  up — drunk  or  sober — ’gin  a thousand  fer  his 
rights; 

He’d  sometimes  close  an  argument  by  shootin’  out  the 
lights; 

An,  when  there  was  a killin’,  by  the  quickest  on  the  draw, 

He  wern’t  disposed  to  quibble  ’bout  the  majesty  uv  law; 

But  a thief — a low-down  villain — why,  he  had  no  use  for 
him, 


108 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


An’  wuz  mighty  apt  to  leave  ’im  danglin’  from  a handy 
limb. 

He  wuz  heeled  and  allers  ready — quick  with  pistol  or  with 
knife, 

But  he  never  shirked  a danger  or  a duty  in  his  life! 

An’  at  a tale  uv  sorrow  or  uv  innocence  beguiled 
His  heart  wuz  just  as  tender  as  the  heart  uv  any  child. 

An’  woman — aye,  her  honor  wuz  a sacred  thing;  an’  hence 
He  threw  his  arms  around  her — in  a figurative  sense. 

His  home  wuz  yours,  where’er  it  wuz,  an’  open  stood  the 
door, 

Whose  hinges  never  closed  upon  the  needy  or  the  poor; 

An’  high  or  low — it  mattered  not — the  time,  if  night  or  day, 
The  stranger  found  a welcome  just  as  long  as  he  would  stay. 

Wuz  honest  to  the  marrow,  and  his  bond  wuz  in  his  word. 

He  paid  for  every  critter  that  he  cut  into  his  herd; 

An’  take  your  note  because  he  loaned  a friend  a little  pelf? 
No,  sir!  indeed!  He  thought  you  wuz  as  worthy  as  himself. 
An’  when  you  came  and  paid  it  back,  as  proper  wuz  an’ 
meet, 

You  trod  upon  forbidden  ground  to  ask  for  a receipt. 

In  former  case  you  paid  the  debt  (there  wern’t  no  intres’ 
due), 

An’  in  the  latter — chances  wuz  he’d  put  a hole  through  you! 

The  old-time  cowboy  had  ’is  faults;  ’tis  true,  as  has  been 
said, 

He’d  look  upon  the  licker  when  the  licker,  men,  wuz  red; 
His  language  wern’t  allers  spoke  accordin’  to  the  rule; 

Ner  wuz  it  sech  as  ye’d  expect  to  hear  at  Sunday  school. 

But  when  he  went  to  meetin’,  men,  he  didn’t  yawn  or  doze. 
Or  set  there  takin’  notice  of  the  congregation’s  clothes. 

He  listened  to  the  preacher  with  respect,  an’  all  o’  that, 

An’  he  never  failed  to  ante  when  they  passed  aroun’  the  hat! 

I call  to  mind  the  tournament,  an’  then  the  ball  at  night; 

Of  how  old  Porter  drawed  the  bow  an’  sawed  with  all  ’is 
might; 


SAM  NEILL 

One  of  the  Best  Cowpunchers  on  the  Trail 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


109 


110 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


Of  how  they’d  dance — the  boys  an’  girls;  an’  how  that  one 
wuz  there 

With  rosy  cheeks,  an’  hazel  eyes,  an’  golden,  curly  hair; 

An’  I — but  here  I’m  techin’  on  a mighty  tender  spot; 

That  boyhood  love,  at  this  late  day,  had  better  be  forgot; 

But  still  at  times  my  heart  goes  back  agin  and  fondly  strays 

Amidst  those  dear  remembered  scenes — the  good  old  cow- 
boy days! 

The  old-time  cowboy  wuz  a man  all  over!  Hear  me,  men! 

I somehow  kinder  figger  we’ll  not  see  his  like  agin. 

The  few  that’s  left  are  older  now;  their  hair  is  mostly  white; 

Their  forms  are  not  so  active,  and  their  eyes  are  not  so 
bright 

As  when  the  grass  wuz  wavin’  green,  the  skies  wuz  soft  an’ 
blue, 

An’  men  were  brave  an’  loyal,  and  the  women  fair  and  true, 

An’  the  land  wuz  filled  with  plenty,  an’  the  range  wuz  free 
to  graze, 

An’  all  rode  forth  as  brothers — in  the  good  old  cowboy  days! 


COURAGE  AND  HARDIHOOD  ON  THE  OLD  TEXAS 
CATTLE  TRAIL 

Sol  West,  one  of  the  best-known  cattle  men  in  Texas, 
who  is  a part  owner  of  a ranch  of  30,000  acres  in  Jackson 
county,  worked  a whole  year  for  75  cents  and  board, when 
a young  man.  Mr.  West  belongs  to  the  old  school  of  cattle 
men.  He  received  his  business  training  in  the  early  days 
in  Texas  when  the  chief  occupation  of  its  citizenship  was 
raising  cattle,  but  the  more  difficult  proposition  was  to  find 
a market  for  them.  Texas  had  no  railways  then  except  in 
the  eastern  portion  of  the  state,  and  these  were  not  available, 
for  the  reason  that  they  did  not  go  to  Kansas  and  the  north- 
west. Men  were  forced  to  do  some  farming,  for  they  had 
to  raise  corn  in  order  to  have  bread. 

In  the  early  days  an  occasional  buyer  who  resided  in 
Southwest  Texas,  would  purchase  a herd  of  8,000  or  10,000 
steers  on  time.  There  was  no  payment  made  at  the  time 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS  111 

of  the  purchase,  for  the  reason  that  the  buyer  needed  all  the 
money  at  his  disposal  to  defray  the  expense  of  the  drive. 
The  seller  did  not  even  take  his  note  for  the  purchase  price, 
because  he  knew  he  was  dealing  with  an  honest  man. 
The  only  evidence  of  debt  was  the  tally  of  the  cattle,  giving 
the  numbers  in  each  class,  including  the  mark  and  brand 
they  bore.  The  purchaser  would  head  north  with  them. 
Sometimes  he  would  go  to  Ellsworth,  Abilene  or  Dodge  City, 
Kansas,  or  some  other  point  at  the  southern  terminus  of 
railroad  transportation  where  the  chief  occupation  of  the 
cowboy  at  times  was  to  see  that  his  shooting  irons  were  in 
good  working  order.  Sometimes  the  herd  would  be  headed 
for  Montana,  Dakota  or  Nebraska.  The  seller  did  not  exact 
any  promise  from  the  purchaser  to  pay  for  the  cattle  at  a 
certain  time,  for  neither  of  them  knew  whether  it  would 
take  one,  two  or  three  years  for  the  buyer  to  dispose  of  his 
holdings  and  get  back  to  Texas  again.  There  was  always 
a satisfactory  settlement,  however,  when  he  returned.  If 
he  had  the  money  to  pay  for  them  it  was  all  right,  but  if  he 
had  lost  half  of  them  in  a blizzard,  the  seller  did  not  take  his 
note  for  the  balance  due  and  insist  on  its  being  secured  by 
a mortgage.  The  slate  was  wiped  clean  and  work  began 
again  shipping  up  another  herd  on  the  same  terms. 

The  trite  old  saying  that  “man’s  inhumanity  to  man  makes 
countless  thousands  mourn”  had  no  place  in  the  lexicon  of 
the  Texas  cattlemen  in  those  days.  He  was  then,  as  he 
is  now,  ready  to  lend  a helping  hand  to  a deserving  fellow- 
man,  and  he  could  shed  tears  as  easily  as  a woman  when 
his  friends  were  bowed  in  grief. 

It  was  amid  such  surroundings  that  the  firm  of  McCut- 
cheon  & West  of  Lavaca  county,  composed  of  the  late 
Willis  McCutcheon  of  Victoria  and  George  W.  West  was 
preparing  another  herd  of  cattle  to  go  north.  Sol  West, 
now  a resident  of  San  Antonio  was  a younger  brother  of 
George  W.  West.  While  still  a mere  strippling  he  had 
made  three  previous  trips  up  the  trail,  and  the  firm  made 
a deal  with  him  in  1874  to  take  a herd  to  Ellsworth,  Kan., 
for  half  the  profits.  He  was  the  youngest  man  who  ever 
“bossed”  a herd  up  the  trail. 


112 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


“It  was  a trip  fraught  with  some  adventure,  considerable 
responsibility,  and  very  little  cash,”  said  Mr.  West  a few 
days  ago,  while  he  was  in  the  reminiscent  mood.  “1  was 
the  first  man  to  reach  Ellsworth  that  spring,  notwithstanding 
the  trials  and  tribulations,  which  beset  us,  and  as  a mark  of 
their  appreciation,  the  business  men  of  the  town  presented 
me  with  a suit  of  clothes,  hat,  boots,  and  in  fact,  a new 
outfit  entirely.  I stayed  around  up  there  all  year,  selling 
a few  steers  here,  a few  there.  There  never  had  been 
such  a spree  of  weather  as  greeted  us  in  the  Indian  territory 
on  our  way  up.  Myself  and  the  men  got  back  to  Lavaca 
county  about  December  1st.  My  brother  George  was  the 
bookkeeper  for  the  firm  of  McCutcheon  & West,  and  when 
1 turned  over  to  him  the  list  of  my  receipts  and  expenditures, 
and  what  cash  I brought  back  with  me,  he  proceeded  to 
figure  up  results.  I had  to  check  it  up  very  carefully  to 
be  sure  that  he  made  no  mistake.  We  had  agreed  on  a 
price  for  the  cattle  when  I started  with  them,  and  I was 
to  have  one-half  of  all  they  brought  over  that  price,  after 
deducting  the  expenses  incident  to  the  trip.  The  net  profit 
on  the  year’s  work  was  $1.50,  and  when  my  brother 
handed  me  the  75c  he  made  some  jocular  inquiry  as  to 
whether  I expected  to  buy  a herd  of  my  own,  or  start  a bank 
with  it. 

“I  left  Lavaca  county  on  February  27th,  1874,  with  the 
herd,  and  on  the  night  of  the  28th  reached  Gonzales  Prairie 
in  Gonzales  county.  On  the  1st  day  of  March  we  crossed 
the  Red  River  into  the  Indian  territory  without  any  mishap, 
having  had  a splendid  drive,  with  clear  open  weather  all 
the  way.  But  this  was  not  to  last  long.  We  pushed  on 
north,  and  late  in  the  afternoon  of  April  6th,  we  reached 
Rush  Creek,  where  the  two  prongs  came  together  just  above 
the  trail.  The  range  had  been  burned  off  by  the  Indians 
and  was  black,  but,  being  protected  by  two  streams,  the 
grass  between  these  prongs  was  fine.  We  stayed  there  for  two 
days,  and  on  the  morning  of  the  8th  took  an  early  start  for  a 
camp,  on  Hell  Roaring  Creek,  about  fifteen  miles  further 
north,  which  I had  selected  because  grass  and  water  were 
plentiful  there.  The  cook  with  the  wagon  had  preceded 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


113 


us,  but  we  got  in  sight  of  camp  about  three  o’clock  in  the 
afternoon.  The  day  had  been  a bad  one,  misting  rain 
and  snowing  lightly  all  day,  with  a brisk  wind  from  the 
north.  Just  as  the  head  cattle  came  within  about  one  hun- 
dred yards  of  camp  at  the  foot  of  some  high  hills  the  bliz- 
zard broke  forth  with  increased  fury.  The  cattle  at  once 
turned  their  heads  to  the  south  and  began  to  drift  with  the 
wind.  I knew  we  were  in  for  a bad  night  of  it,  and  there 
was  not  a man  in  the  outfit  over  20  years  old.  We  held 
them  back  as  best  we  could  until  after  dark.  In  the  mean- 
time the  horses  ridden  by  the  boys  had  actually  frozen  to 
death,  and  their  riders  on  them  during  our  progress  of  about 
five  miles.  My  horse  was  the  last  to  go  down. 

“I  had  instructed  the  boys  that  when  the  horses  went 
down  they  should  go  back  to  camp.  When  I was  forced  to 
leave  my  horse  there  were  two  men  with  me,  both  on  foot, 
of  course.  One  of  them  was  Charles  Boyce  of  Goliad 
county,  who  is  now  a prosperous  stock  farmer,  and  who 
will  easily  recall  that  fearful  night.  The  other  was  Jake 
Middlebrack  of  Lavaca  county,  who  returned  to  that  county 
with  us,  but  of  whom  1 have  lost  sight  of  for  many  years. 
We  finally  got  the  cattle  checked  after  the  wind  had  subsided 
a little,  and  as  we  had  not  touched  a bite  to  eat  since  early 
morning  we  began  to  cast  about  for  something  to  break 
our  fast.  We  had  each  a box  of  matches,  but  our  hands 
were  so  numb  that  we  could  not  ‘Trike  one,  even  if  we 
could  have  gotten  the  box  out  of  our  pockets. 

“Presently  I saw  a light  in  the  hills  about  two  miles  away. 
We  started  for  it  and  reached  the  dug-out,  for  such  it  proved 
to  be,  after  a weary  trudge  of  an  hour  or  more.  The  dug- 
out  had  two  rooms  and  the  men  took  us  in  after  we  told 
them  our  hard  luck  story.  They  gave  us  a fine  supper  and 
put  us  to  bed  in  the  spare  room,  with  plenty  of  good  warm 
bedding.  The  next  morning  at  the  peep  of  day  I roused 
out  the  boys.  I found  a dun  pony  under  a shed  on  the 
outside  with  a bridle  and  saddle  convenient  and  1 appropri- 
ated it  and  told  the  boys  to  follow  me  down  in  the  direction 
of  the  herd,  provided  it  was  where  we  had  left  it.  They 
followed  me  down  and  I found  the  herd  intact,  just  where 


1 14 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


we  had  left  it  the  night  before,  after  one  of  the  coldest 
nights  I ever  experienced. 

“Soon  after  I reached  the  herd  the  other  boys  hove  in 
sight  and  we  started  the  cattle  back  towards  the  camp, 
the  snow,  sleet  and  ice  being  a foot  and  a half  deep.  Hell 
Roaring  Creek  and  all  the  other  streams  in  that  section 
were  frozen  hard.  We  had  traveled  a couple  of  miles  down 
the  creek  when  1 discovered  a man  on  foot  coming  toward 
us.  He  proved  to  be  A1  Fields  of  Victoria.  He  was  what 
was  known  as  my  neighbor  on  the  trail,  having  a herd  just 
behind  me.  He  was  overjoyed  to  see  me,  as  he  feared  we 
had  all  frozen  to  death  that  night  before.  All  of  his  horses 
and  work  oxen  had  frozen  to  death  and  his  herd  was 
scattered  to  the  four  winds.  When  we  finally  reached  the 
camp  Jim  Taylor,  the  man  who  had  entertained  us  in  the 
dug-out  the  night  before,  and  about  fifteen  of  his  men  were 
there. 

“Charles  Boyce  had  told  me  previously  that  he  was  not  in 
a very  good  humor  about  the  plan  I had  adopted  to  borrow 
his  horse.  1 proved  to  be  a good  talker,  however,  and 
when  I got  through  Jim  said  he  guessed  $1.50  would  be 
enough  for  the  use  of  the  horse.  1 told  him  that  the  price 
was  cheap  enough,  but  I didn’t  tell  him  there  was  only 

ten  cents  in  cash  in  the  whole  outfit.  I traded  him  some 

steers  for  three  horses  and  a mule,  and  included  the  $1.50 
in  the  trade.  Our  troubles  were  not  to  end  here,  however. 

“Two  men  were  behind  with  the  ‘remuda’  of  65  horses 
used  by  the  men  on  alternate  days  in  coming  up  the  trail. 
I sent  two  of  the  boys  back  to  meet  them,  and  led  them  into 
camp.  Going  back  about  eight  miles  they  met  the  men 
coming  toward  camp  on  foot,  as  the  whole  65  head  had 
frozen  to  death  the  night  before  in  a space  not  larger  than 
an  ordinary  dwelling  house,  and  the  boys  had  only  saved 
themselves  from  a like  fate  by  building  a fire  in  the  black- 
jack timber  and  keeping  it  going  all  night.  We  held  the 
herd  there  for  a couple  of  days  with  the  three  horses  and 
the  mule,  and  I traded  some  steers  to  the  Indians  for  three 
more  horses.  We  then  started  on  north  and  reached 

Ellsworth  on  May  20th.  This  heavy  loss  of  horse  flesh 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


115 


was  a prominent  factor  in  the  hindrance  which  cut  the  net 
profits  of  the  drive  down  to  $1.50.  Not  a single  one 
out  of  78  head  of  horses  survived  the  terrible  blizzard  of 
four  or  five  hour’s  duration.” 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Sol  West  now  reside  at  422  Pershing  Avenue, 
San  Antonio,  Texas.  Their  two  sons,  George  W.  West,  Jr. 
and  Ike  West  are  ranching  in  Zavalla  county,  Texas.  Their 
daughter,  Mrs.  Alfred  Pierce  Ward  lives  in  San  Antonio, — 
all  enjoying  good  health  and  prosperous. 

Mr.  West  made  twelve  successive  trips  over  the  trail  from 
the  coast  of  Texas  to  Colorado,  Kansas,  Nebraska  and 
other  northern  markets  with  large  herds  of  Texas  cattle. 
His  first  trip  was  in  1871, — a good  many  trips  for  a boy 
to  make  without  break,  and  he  didn’t  ride  in  any  automobiles 
on  these  trips. 

PLAYED  PRANKS  ON  THE  TENDERFOOT 

By  Henry  D.  Steele,  San  Antonio,  Texas 

Early  in  the  spring  of  1882  I was  employed  by  Mark 
Withers  of  Lockhart,  to  go  up  the  trail  with  a herd  to 
Kansas.  Before  starting  on  the  trip  I went  to  San  Antonio 
and  purchased  a complete  cowboy  equipment,  broad-brimmed 
hat,  leggins,  Colt’s  pistol,  scabbard,  cartridges,  and  the 
usual  trimmings.  We  went  down  into  McMullen  county 
to  get  the  cattle,  and  I was  selected  as  horse-wrangler  for 
the  outfit.  The  cattle  were  bought  from  a man  by  the 
name  of  Martin.  While  we  were  at  Tilden,  George  Hill 
came  up  with  some  of  the  boys  and  helped  to  gather  the 
herd.  I was  pretty  much  of  a “tenderfoot,”  just  a slip  of 
a boy,  and  the  hands  told  me  this  man  Hill  was  a pretty 
tough  character  and  would  steal  anything  he  could  get  his 
hands  on,  besides  he  might  kill  me  if  I didn’t  watch  him. 
They  loaded  me  up  pretty  well  on  this  kind  of  information, 
and  1 really  believed  it.  They  would  steal  my  matches, 
cartridges,  cigarette  papers  and  handkerchiefs,  and  tell 
me  that  Hill  got  them.  I reached  the  time  when  I was 
deprived  of  almost  everything  I had  and  even  had  to  skin 
prickly  pear  to  get  wrapping  for  my  cigarettes,  believing 


116 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


all  the  while  that  the  fellow  Hill  had  cleaned  me  up. 

Things  were  getting  serious  and  1 was  desperate,  and 
if  Hill  had  made  any  kind  of  a break  the  consequences 
would  probably  have  been  disaster.  At  last  Hill,  who  was 
fully  aware  of  the  game  that  was  being  played  on  me, 

called  me  aside  and  told  me  that  it  was  all  a put  up  job, 

and  said  it  had  been  carried  far  enough.  We  all  had  a 
good  laugh  and  from  that  time  forward  harmony  reigned 
in  camp. 

John  Story  was  our  cook  until  we  reached  Coleman 

county,  but  there  he  left  us  and  returned  to  Lockhart,  to 
engage  in  the  blacksmith  business.  After  Story  left  us  I 
had  to  do  the  cooking  some  time,  and  getting  tired  of  that 
work  1 quit  the  herd  and  returned  home,  George  Hill  accom- 
panying me  as  far  as  Austin. 

In  the  spring  of  1883  I was  employed  by  Dick  Head  of 
Lockhart  to  go  with  a herd.  Monroe  Hardeman  was  boss. 
We  gathered  the  cattle  in  Mason  and  Coleman  counties. 
The  cattle  were  pretty  thin,  as  the  range  was  dry  and  had 
little  grass.  We  passed  through  McCulloch  county,  through 
North  Texas,  and  into  the  Indian  Territory.  Crossed  the 
Washita  River  when  it  was  on  a big  rise.  That  night  we  had 
a severe  thunderstorm  and  I lost  my  hat  during  the  rain. 

When  we  reached  Dodge  City,  Kansas,  we  remained 
there  several  days  to  allow  the  herd  to  rest,  and  from  here 
we  proceeded  to  Ogallala,  Nebraska,  where  Mr.  Head  sold 
the  cattle,  and  most  of  the  crew  came  home,  but  Joe 
Lovelady,  Pat  Garrison,  myself  and  Charlie  Hedgepeth, 
a negro,  went  on  with  the  herd  to  Cheyenne,  Wyoming, 
where  he  arrived  in  August.  When  we  started  back  we 
bought  our  tickets  for  Austin,  and  the  price  was  $33.35  each. 

It  has  been  just  thirty-seven  years  since  I went  over  the 
trail.  I do  not  know  what  has  become  of  the  men  who 
went  with  me  on  that  trip.  One  of  the  hands,  Charlie 
Hedgepeth,  the  negro,  was  hanged  at  Seguin  by  a mob  some 
years  ago.  I saw  Mark  Withers  at  the  Old  Trail  Drivers’ 
reunion  in  San  Antonio  in  1917. 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


117 


WHEN  A MAN’S  WORD  WAS  AS  GOOD  AS 
A GILT-EDGED  NOTE 

By  George  N.  Steen,  Bryan,  Texas 

Taking  the  advice  of  Jake  Ellison  in  1867,  I decided  to 
go  into  the  cattle  business.  I had  no  money,  but  the  people 
let  me  take  their  cattle  on  credit,  and  I gathered  enough  to 
start  a herd  from  San  Marcos,  Texas,  to  Abilene,  Kansas, 
in  the  spring  of  1868.  I had  six  cowboys  and  only  one 
hundred  dollars  to  start  on  the  trip  with,  but  1 knew  1 would 
get  through  somehow.  When  we  reached  Gainesville,  my 
money  was  all  gone,  and  our  stock  of  grub  was  low.  1 
went  into  the  town  to  see  if  1 could  buy  enough  groceries 
to  last  until  we  could  get  through  the  Indian  Territory.  1 
was  a perfect  stranger  there,  and  did  not  know  a man  in  the 
town.  I went  into  George  Howell’s  store,  told  Mr.  Howell 
my  circumstances,  and  asked  if  he  would  credit  me  for  what 
I needed.  He  looked  me  straight  in  the  eye  for  a few 

seconds  and  said  he  would  do  so.  And  he  didn’t  ask  for 
a mortgage  or  a note  or  anything  to  hold  me  bound  except 
my  word  to  pay. 

Our  bread  gave  out  before  we  got  through  the  Indian 

Territory,  and  I started  foraging.  One  of  the  boys  in  my 

outfit  had  a ten  dollar  gold  piece  and  loaned  it  to  me  to 

use  in  buying  flour.  1 struck  a small  trail  and  followed 
it  until  it  led  me  to  a little  old  log  cabin.  I got  off  my 
horse  and  went  inside  and  found  an  old  Indian  who  could 
not  speak  very  much  English,  and  did  not  seem  to  under- 
stand what  1 wanted.  Looking  around  the  room  I saw  a 
sack  of  flour  and  said  to  him,  “How  much  take?”  He  said 
“Ten  dollars,”  so  1 gave  him  the  gold  piece  and  went  back 
to  camp  rejoicing. 

Capt.  Bill  George  of  Seguin,  joined  me  while  going 
through  the  Indian  Territory.  We  had  some  trouble  with 
Indians  on  the  trip.  One  night  our  herd  was  stampeded 
and  we  discovered  that  it  was  a ruse  played  by  the  Indians 
to  get  possession  of  our  horses.  1 heard  them  rustling  about 
and  put  in  after  them  with  the  result  that  I captured  a horse 
and  bridle.  Next  morning  when  we  started  the  herd  we  tied 


118 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


the  horse  at  the  edge  of  a mot  of  timber,  and  I concealed 
myself  in  the  thicket  to  watch  for  developments.  Pretty 

soon  an  Indian  came  to  the  horse,  and  I covered  him  with 
my  gun.  He  thought  his  time  to  depart  to  the  happy 
hunting  grounds  had  arrived.  After  giving  him  a good 
scare  I made  him  promise  to  quit  thieving  and  to  never 
again  attempt  to  steal  horses  from  trail  drivers.  Then  I let 
him  go, 

I was  in  Abilene  when  Tom  Bowles  and  Wild  Bill,  the 
city  marshall,  had  a shooting  scrape  and  a policeman  was 
killed  by  a stray  bullet.  While  we  were  there  one  night 
a man  was  drinking  at  a bar  in  a saloon,  and  somebody 
fired  in  from  outside,  the  bullet  striking  him  in  the  mouth 
and  instantly  killing  him.  Later  one  of  the  boys  with  a 
Texas  herd  was  shot  and  killed  by  one  of  the  Mexican 
hands.  The  Mexican  skipped  out.  A reward  was  offered 
for  his  capture  dead  or  alive,  and  Wesley  Hardin  got  the 
reward. 


LIVED  ON  THE  FRONTIER  DURING  INDIAN  TIMES 

By  Joe  F.  Spettel,  Riomedina,  Texas 

I was  born  in  the  Haby  settlement  in  1856,  and  have 
lived  in  Medina  county  all  my  life.  My  parents  were  Castro 
colonists  and  came  to  this  country  in  1844,  locating  in  the 
Haby  settlement.  My  father,  John  Spettel  was  a “Forty- 
Niner,”  and  went  to  seek  his  fortune  in  the  California  gold 
fields.  He,  with  two  companions  made  quite  a lucky  strike, 
but  in  returning  homeward  they  were  overtaken  by  a band 
of  robbers,  his  companions  were  killed  and  father  received 
a bullet  wound  which  eventually  caused  his  death,  although 
he  lived  for  several  years  afterward.  He  came  home 
and  remained  awhile,  and  again  went  to  California,  but 
did  not  find  mining  so  successful  as  on  his  former  trip. 
However,  he  brought  back  some  gold  nuggets  that  are  still 
in  the  possession  of  our  family. 

In  1852  he  married  Miss  Mary  Haby,  and  of  this  union 
were  born  three  children,  respectively  John  B.,  Mary,  and 
Joseph  F.  Spettel.  My  father  died  in  1857,  his  early  demise 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


1 19 


being  due  to  the  wound  he  received  while  prospecting. 
My  sister  became  the  wife  of  my  partner,  Louis  Schorp, 
and  she  died  in  1905.  My  brother  died  in  1909,  so  I am 
the  sole  survivor  of  one  of  the  most  courageous  men  that 
ever  resided  in  this  vicinity,  who  overcame  all  obstacles 
to  penetrate  the  unknown  western  land  to  accumulate  a 
fortune. 

After  my  father’s  death  my  mother  had  to  depend  on 
hired  help,  as  we  were  not  large  enough  to  take  care  of  the 
farm  and  stock.  At  this  time  we  had  but  one  horse,  and 
the  Indians  stole  him.  As  time  went  on  we  began  to 
prosper,  our  cattle  increased  and  we  had  a fine  bunch  of 
saddle  horses,  but  fate  was  against  us  it  seemed,  for  in  1866 
the  Indians  made  another  raid  in  our  settlement  and  drove 
off  every  cow  pony  we  owned.  We  did  not  let  this  mis- 
fortune discourage  us,  but  purchased  more  horses  and  soon 
were  able  to  take  the  proper  care  of  our  cattle. 

During  the  Civil  War  we  were  troubled  a great  deal  by 
the  soldiers  who  would  come  into  the  community  and 
gather  up  all  the  able-bodied  men  and  boys.  But  the 

settlers  would  keep  out  of  their  way  as  much  as  possible 
and  hide  out  their  work  oxen  and  horses  to  keep  the  soldiers 
from  taking  them. 

In  1870  the  Indians  made  another  raid  in  our  neighbor- 
hood but  failed  to  take  any  of  our  horses,  as  we  had  heard 

of  their  approach  and  penned  our  stock.  My  uncle  had 
two  horses  in  a small  pasture  which  he  trained  to  come 

home  when  he  whistled  to  them.  That  night  he  called 
them  up  and  staked  them  near  the  house,  armed  himself 
with  a shot  gun,  concealed  himself  behind  a tree  and  awaited 
the  results.  About  one  o’clock  the  horses  began  to  snort, 
and  caper  around  and  he  knew  Indians  were  near.  Looking 
around  he  saw  three  Indians  coming  along  the  rail  fence  in 
a trot.  Just  as  the  Indians  were  opposite  him  the  foremost 
put  his  head  inside  the  fence  between  the  upper  and  second 
rails,  and  my  uncle  cut  down  on  him  with  that  old  shot  gun 
which  was  loaded  with  buckshot.  The  Indian  dropped  in  his 
tracks,  and  his  companions  instantly  vanished.  The  follow- 
ing full  moon  another  raid  was  made,  probably  by  the  same 


120 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


band,  but  they  did  not  steal  any  horses  this  time.  They 
went  into  a field  about  three  hundred  yards  from  home 
and  cut  up  many  melons.  One  of  our  dogs  came  home 
with  an  arrow  sticking  in  his  neck. 

During  the  seventies  two  companions  and  myself  drove 
a hundred  fat  steers  from  Medina  county  to  Luling,  the 
nearest  railway  station,  from  where  they  were  loaded  and 
shipped  to  New  Orleans. 

In  the  spring  of  1873  I assisted  in  driving  five  hundred 
aged  steers  from  Haby  settlement  to  a place  above  San 
Antonio,  where  we  delivered  them  to  John  F.  Lytle  and 
Bill  Perryman,  and  were  met  by  another  herd  owned  by 
the  same  men,  who  drove  them  up  the  Kansas  trail  to 
northern  markets. 

In  1875  Julius  Wurzbach,  my  brother  and  I put  up  a 
herd  of  eleven  hundred  steers  for  the  firm  of  Lytle  & Mc- 
Daniel. It  was  in  charge  of  Gus  Black,  who  now  resides 
in  Kinney  county.  We  continued  to  gather  herds  for  Lytle 
& McDaniel  for  several  years. 

In  1878  while  on  a round-up  near  the  Medina  and  Uvalde 
county  line,  one  night  the  Indians  made  a raid  and  tried  to 
steal  our  horses,  but  succeeded  in  getting  only  four. 

From  1878  to  1887  my  brother  and  I looked  after  our 
stock  and  sold  steers  near  our  home.  In  1883  Louis  Schorp 
married  my  sister,  and  we  formed  a partnership,  and  our 
ranches  are  still  known  as  the  Schorp  & Spettel  property. 
In  1887  we  purchased  a ranch  in  Frio  county,  and  drove 
our  aged  steers  there  every  fall  and  shipped  them  to  market 
each  following  June. 

MADE  A LONG  TRIP  TO  WYOMING 

By  H.  D.  Gruene  of  Goodwin,  Texas 

In  the  spring  of  1870,  William  Murchison,  who  was  living 
on  the  Colorado  River,  told  me  that  William  Green  of  Llano 
and  Colonel  Myers  of  Lockhart  were  getting  ready  to  take 
a herd  of  cattle  to  Kansas,  and  asked  me  to  go  along  as 
he  had  hired  to  them.  I secured  the  consent  of  my  father, 
as  I was  only  nineteen  years  old  at  that  time,  and  Bill  and  I 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


12  1 


GEO.  H.  MOHLE 


W.  B.  HARDEMAN 


W.  P.  LOCKE 


W.  H.  ADAMS 


122 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


pulled  out  for  Llano  where  I was  engaged  by  Mr.  Green 
at  $30.00  a month.  After  several  days  gathering  the  cattle 
we  started  on  our  trip  with  two  wagons  carrying  grub  and 
luggage,  going  by  way  of  Burnett  and  Belton,  where  we  had 
an  awful  rain  one  night  and  all  of  our  cattle  got  away. 
We  finally  succeeded  in  getting  them  together  without  loss 
of  a single  head.  When  we  reached  Fort  Worth  the  Trinity 
River  was  on  a rise,  and  we  were  compelled  to  drive  our 
cattle  some  distance  up  the  river  to  swim  them  across. 
From  there  we  had  good  going  and  crossed  Red  River  at 
Red  River  Station  into  the  Indian  Territory.  In  the  Terri- 
tory during  the  rainy  nights  we  had  several  stampedes,  and 
they  came  so  often  we  soon  got  used  to  them.  When  we 
reached  Abilene,  Kansas,  where  we  were  to  deliver  the 
cattle,  we  held  the  herd  for  several  weeks  and  were  surprised 
to  learn  that  the  cattle  would  have  to  be  driven  to 
Cheyenne,  Wyoming.  All  of  the  Texas  boys  quit  the  herd 
and  returned  home,  with  the  exception  of  four,  myself  being 
one  of  the  number  who  consented  to  remain  with  the  outfit. 
Brace  Lincecum  of  Lockhart,  was  the  boss  of  the  bunch 
that  was  to  take  the  cattle  to  Cheyenne.  After  many  days 
hard  driving  we  reached  our  destination.  There  the  cattle 
were  sold  to  another  party  who  wanted  them  delivered  at 
Bear  River,  110  miles  above  Salt  Lake  City,  Utah,  and  our 
boss,  Mr.  Lincecum  was  employed  to  take  them  there.  1 
went  along  on  condition  that  1 was  to  receive  $60  per  month 
and  that  I would  not  have  to  work  at  the  rear  of  the  herd, 
John  Riggs  of  Lockhart,  was  my  companion  on  this  drive. 

We  had  to  take  the  cattle  through  the  Rocky  Mountains, 
and  we  found  the  nights  so  cold  we  had  to  burn  sage  brush 
to  keep  warm. 

After  the  cattle  were  delivered  all  of  the  boys  were  paid 
off,  and  1 received  my  wages  in  twenty  dollar  gold  pieces. 
We  boarded  a train  to  Odgen,  where  we  stopped  off  and 
went  to  Salt  Lake  City.  There  we  bought  some  new 
clothes,  and  had  a general  “cleaning-up”  for  we  were 
pretty  well  inhabited  by  body  lice,  the  greatest  pest  en- 
countered on  the  trail.  The  next  day  we  took  the  train 
for  Abilene,  Kansas,  and  there  we  each  bought  a horse 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


123 


and  rode  as  far  as  Baxter  Springs,  Missouri,  where  we  met 
up  with  some  people  named  Wilks,  who  were  living  at 
Mountain  City,  Hays  county,  Texas.  They  were  returning 
to  Texas,  and  as  they  had  four  wagons  we  made  arrange- 
ments to  travel  with  them.  For  our  passage  and  board 
we  agreed  to  do  the  cooking  for  the  crowd.  We  finally 
reached  home  after  a trip  that  covered  nine  months. 

The  following  year,  1871,  I made  another  trip,  but  went 
only  as  far  as  Kansas  City.  I had  335  head  of  cattle  which 
1 put  in  with  a bunch  belonging  to  William  Green.  When 
we  reached  the  end  of  our  trip  we  found  cattle  were  selling- 
very  cheap,  and  we  had  to  sell  on  credit.  The  party  to 
whom  I sold  went  broke  and  I lost  all  that  was  due  me. 
This  was  my  last  trip.  After  a year  at  home  I married 
and  settled  at  Goodwin,  my  present  home,  where  with 
much  hard  labor,  in  which  my  wife  bore  more  than  her 
part,  we  have  prospered  and  are  living  very  contented. 
I am  in  the  merchantile  business,  and  handle  lumber  and 
implements  as  well,  besides  having  a cotton  gin,  and  own 
some  good  farms.  We  have  four  children,  two  boys  and 
two  girls,  and  they  are  all  right  here  with  me  helping  to 
conduct  my  business.  Our  place  is  better  known  as  Gruene’s 
and  any  time  any  of  my  old  friends  come  this  way  I will 
appreciate  a visit. 

MY  EXPERIENCE  ON  THE  COW  TRAIL 

By  F.  M.  Polk  of  Luling, Texas 

My  first  experience  on  the  cow  trail  was  in  1872.  I 
went  with  Joe  Tennison  and  Warnell  Polk,  my  father.  We 
traveled  the  trail  known  as  “the  Old  Chisholm  Trail.” 
We  left  for  Lockhart,  Texas  on  the  first  of  April  and  went 
by  way  of  Fort  Worth.  Fort  Worth  was  a new  town  then 
and,  of  course,  we  had  to  stop  over  and  see  the  sights. 
After  leaving  Fort  Worth  we  made  good  time  until  we 
reached  Red  River,  which  we  crossed  at  Red  River  Station. 
The  river  was  swollen  by  the  heavy  spring  rains  and  we 
were  forced  to  swim  our  cattle  through  very  deep  and  swift 
watre.  We  lost  a few,  but  felt  lucky  in  getting  off  light. 


124 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


We  were  a care-free  bunch,  had  lots  of  fun  and  also 
lots  of  hard  work.  It  was  the  spring  of  the  year  and  the 
woods  were  very  beautiful.  We  would  pitch  our  tents 
at  night,  get  our  work  all  done  and  after  supper  would 

light  our  pipes  and  sit  or  lounge  around  the  campfire  and 
listen  to  the  older  men  spin  their  hair-raising  yarns  of  their 
earlier  trips.  We  would  then  make  our  beds,  using  our 
saddles  for  pillows,  stretch  our  tired  limbs  and  soon  be 

sound  asleep  and  know  nothing  else  until  morning,  unless 
something  happened  to  disturb  the  cattle,  when  we  would 
bound  up  and  be  ready  for  action. 

I recall  one  stampede  especially  on  this  trip.  We  had 
camped  on  the  south  side  of  the  North  Canadian  River  one 
stormy  night  and  after  retiring  we  heard  a big  noise  and 
we  were  up  and  out  to  the  cattle  in  a very  few  minutes. 

We  soon  realized  that  we  had  our  hands  full,  for  the 

cattle  had  scattered  everywhere  and  it  required  two  days 
to  get  them  back  together  again. 

As  we  went  through  the  country,  it  kept  us  busy  looking 
out  for  Indians  and  buffalo.  One  man  was  always  sent 
ahead  to  keep  the  buffaloes  out  of  the  herd  and  scout  for 
Indians  for  they  were  very  savage  at  this  time  and  we  never 
knew  when  they  would  attack  us.  We  landed  in  Wichita, 
Kansas,  some  time  near  the  middle  of  July  without  serious 
mishaps  or  the  loss  of  very  many  cattle. 

I decided  1 would  take  it  easier  coming  back  so  bought  a 
wagon  and  left  Wichita  the  middle  of  August.  I came  down 
through  Arkansas  and  the  edge  of  Missouri  and  landed  at 
home  the  20th  of  September  with  five  head  of  horses. 

As  1 was  only  eighteen  years  old,  my  father  thought  I 
was  too  young  for  such  a strenuous  life  and  persuaded  me 
to  farm  a few  years  before  returning  to  the  trail,  but  I did 
not  like  farming  and  after  two  years  trial  of  it,  1 was  more 
than  ready  to  go  back  to  the  wild  carefree  life  of  a cowboy. 
In  1875  I went  to  work  for  J.  W.  Montgomery,  better 
known  among  the  cowmen  as  “Black  Bill”.  He  moved 
his  cattle  to  Lampasas  county  and  I worked  for  him  there 
three  years,  1875,  1876  and  1877.  I returned  home  then 
and  worked  on  a ranch  until  the  spring  of  1881,  when  I 


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125 


went  to  work  for  W.  H.  Jennings  and  John  R.  Blocker. 
I bought  cattle  over  Caldwell  county  until  the  first  of  April. 

We  left  the  ranch  near  the  San  Marcos  River  on  the 
first  day  of  April  for  Kansas.  We  landed  at  the  Blocker 
ranch  in  five  days  and  received  twenty-eight  head  of  outlaw 
horses.  Blocker  and  Jennings  always  took  several  herds  up 
the  trail  at  the  same  time.  On  this  trip  they  bought  200 
head  of  Spanish  horses  from  someone  on  the  Rio  Grande. 
Bob  Jennings,  the  boss  of  our  herd,  and  I,  were  sent  af 
this  bunch  of  horses.  They  were  the  worst  horses  we  ever 
handled.  We  had  lots  of  fun  and  lots  of  falls  trying  to 
ride  them.  It  was  Ab  and  Jenks  Blocker’s  job  to  rope,  down 
and  put  shoes  on  them,  and  let  me  tell  you  it  was  a worse 
job  than  some  ladies  have  in  trying  to  put  a No.  3 shoe 
on  a No.  5 foot. 

We  made  our  way  to  Taylor,  Texas,  and  received  300 
head  of  steers.  It  was  then  the  18th  day  of  April  and  it 
required  several  days  to  put  the  road  brand  on  this  bunch 
before  we  were  ready  for  the  long,  long  trail.  The  boys 
had  a rough  time,  but  we  certainly  had  lots  of  fun.  Noth- 
ing ever  happened  that  we  didn’t  get  a good  laugh  out  of 
it.  We  had  one  “greener”  with  us  on  this  trip  and  we 
never  missed  a chance  to  play  a prank  on  him.  His  name 
was  Joe  Hullum.  Cal  Tuttle,  Charlie  Roberts  and  I all 
knew  him  well  and,  of  course,  delighted  in  teasing  him. 
When  we  reached  Lampasas  County,  we  told  him  we  were 
getting  into  a country  where  the  Indians  were  very  bad 
and  that  they  didn’t  mind  wearing  a few  scalps  on  their 
belts.  He  pretended  not  to  care,  but  before  we  had  gone 
very  much  further  he  bid  us  farewell,  saying  that  he  didn’t 
care  anything  about  being  buried  on  the  lone  prairie  for 
the  wild  coyotes  to  howl  over  his  grave  and  besides,  he  was 
getting  too  far  away  from  “dear  old  Caldwell  county.”  He 
bade  us  good  luck  and  the  last  we  saw  of  him  he  was  tak- 
ing the  newly  traveled  end  of  the  trail,  and  he  wasn’t  slow 
about  it  either. 

For  the  next  few  days  everything  went  on  fine,  the 
weather  was  fair,  the  cattle  were  quiet,  and  we  began  to 
say  to  each  other:  “Cattle  driving  is  just  about  the  easiest 


126 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


job  I know  of,”  but,  alas,  peace  never  lasted  long  on  the 
cattle  trail.  I don’t  remember  just  where  we  strucK  the 
Western  Chisholm  trail,  but  as  we  neared  Little  River  we 
had  a terrible  storm  and  rain.  The  cattle  became  fright- 
ened and  pulled  off  a big  show.  It  took  us  three  days  to 
get  them  all  together  again  and  when  we  reached  the  river, 
we  had  to  swim  the  cattle.  They  were  restless  and  unruly 
and  it  took  us  two  days  to  get  them  all  across.  We  had  a 
fellow  by  the  name  of  Rufe  Fuller  taking  care  of  the  horses 
and  in  crossing  the  river  he  drowned  the  horse  he  was  rid- 
ing and  one  of  the  bunch  he  was  driving.  We  made  pon- 
toons and  fastened  to  our  wagons  to  float  them  across.  We 
made  good  time  after  that  until  we  reached  Pease  River,  but 
here  we  had  a big  stampede  and  had  to  lay  over  two  days 
to  gather  up  our  cattle.  The  country  was  lined  with  ante- 
lope and  prairie  dogs  and  we  found  great  sport  killing 
them. 

We  crossed  the  Red  River  into  the  Indian  Territory  at 
Doans’  Store  and  here  we  struck  the  Indians  by  the  thou- 
sands. We  kept  our  eyes  open  and  managed  to  keep  peace 
by  giving  them  a beef  every  day.  They  would  come  to  us 
fifty  and  one  hundred  at  a time.  Some  would  ride  with  us 
J all  day  and  they  always  asked  for  a cow,  which  they  called 
“Wahaw,”  and,  of  course,  we  acted  like  we  were  glad  to 
give  it  to  them,  but  we  were  not  very  badly  frightened.  We 
all  had  our  guns  and  knew  how  to  use  them  if  we  got  in 
a tight.  As  we  went  through  this  part  of  the  country,  we 
had  great  sport  roping  buffalo  and  elk.  You  could  look 

across  the  prairie  and  see  hundreds  of  them  in  droves. 

J.  R.  Blocker  and  W.  H.  Jennings  overtook  us  at  Bitter 
Creek.  They  were  to  deliver  the  cattle  at  Mobeetie,  a lit- 
tle town  in  the  Panhandle.  I quit  the  herd  at  Bitter  Creek. 
Mr.  Blocker  sent  Will  Sears  and  I on  to  overtake  Givings 
Lane,  one  of  Blocker  & Jenning’s  bosses.  We  overtook  Mr. 
Lane  in  three  days  at  Bluff  Creek,  and  while  camped  there 
we  had  a big  rain  storm  which  put  the  creek  up  and  caused 
a big  stampede  among  our  cattle.  We  stayed  with  Mr.  Lane 
until  he  got  the  cattle  rounded  up  and  across  the  creek, 
when  we  decided  to  go  to  Lajunta,  Colorado.  I had  a cousin 


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127 


there  running  a ranch  for  J.  J.  Jones.  We  left  Dodge  City 
the  first  of  August  and  traveled  up  the  Arkansas  River  horse- 
back. We  reached  the  Jones  ranch  on  the  fifth  of  August. 
I rested  one  day  and  went  to  work.  J.  J.  Jones  was  at  that 
time  the  biggest  cattleman  in  Colorado,  so  you  may  guess 
that  we  had  lots  of  work  to  do.  1 worked  here  until  the 
first  of  December  and  as  it  was  getting  very  cold  up  there 
by  that  time  and  we  were  having  some  heavy  snow  tails  I 
decided  I would  strike  for  a warmer  climate,  and  back  to 
Texas  I came. 

I hired  to  M.  A.  Withers  on  April  the  first,  1882,  and 
struck  the  trail  again.  He  sent  several  herds  this  time  and 
1 went  with  a bunch  undei  Gus  Withers.  We  had  lots  of 
hard  work  and  plenty  of  bad  horses  to  ride.  They  were  the 
worst  bunch  I ever  saw  with  the  exception  of  the  Blocker 
bunch.  The  stampedes  were  so  numerous  that  I could  not 
keep  track  of  them,  but  we  had  a well  trained  bunch  of 
men  and  lost  no  cattle,  but  had  to  work  hard  and  sleep  with 
one  eye  open. 

There  was  so  much  rain  and  the  cattle  were  so  restless, 
we  never  knew  what  to  expect.  Lots  of  times  1 never  pulled  off 
my  boots  for  three  days  and  nights.  After  one  of  these 
strenuous  times,  we  would  lay  over  some  place  and  rest  for 
a few  days.  We  would  have  lots  of  fun  trying  to  prove 
wb.o  was  the  best  rider,  but  oftentimes  the  horse  would  prove 
that  he  was  onto  his  job  better  than  any  of  us. 

At  Pease  River  we  had  a big  stampede  and  would  have 
lost  a great  many  cattle  if  we  had  not  been  near  Millet’s 
Ranch.  Millet  worked  only  desperadoes  on  this  ranch,  but 
they  were  all  good  cattle  men  and  came  nobly  to  our  res- 
cue. We  ran  across  one  boy  in  that  crowd  from  Caldwell 
County.  He  had  decided  quite  a while  ago  that  Caldwell 
County  was  getting  too  warm  for  him  and  his  cattle  rust- 
ling and  had  struck  for  a cooler  climate.  It  seemed  awfully 
good  to'  us  to  see  anyone  from  home,  even  a cattle  rustler. 
He  enjoyed  our  stay  very  much  as  he  learned  of  lots  that 
had  happened  at  home  since  he  left.  We  rested  here  a few 
days  and  struck  out  again. 


128 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


We  crossed  Red  River  at  Doan’s  Store  and  there  we 
found  a large  number  of  Indians  camped,  but  they  were 
peaceable,  for  they  were  fast  finding  out  that  it  didn’t  pay 
to  molest  cattle  drivers.  M.  A.  Withers  overtook  us  here 
and  sent  Gus  Withers  on  with  his  herd,  which  was  going  to 
Dodge,  while  he  went  ahead  to  get  Mr.  Johnson,  who  had 
bought  these  cattle  for  an  English  syndicate,  to  come  to 
Mobeetie  to  receive  our  herd.  He  put  Tom  Hawker  over 
us  and  also  changed  my  brother,  Cal  Polk,  to  our  bunch, 
which  pleased  me  very  much.  We  had  been  separated  for 
quite  a while  and  had  lots  to  tell  each  other. 

After  leaving  Doan’s  Store,  we  traveled  up  Bitter  Creek 
for  forty  or  fifty  miles  and  then  turned  west  to  Mobeetie, 
when  we  turned  our  herd  over  to  John  Hargroves  to  hold 
on  the  L.  X.  Ranch  until  fall,  as  we  could  not  take  them  on 
to  Tuscosa  until  after  frost  on  account  of  a quarantine  they 
had  on  at  that  time. 

After  Mr.  Johnson  received  our  bunch,  he  and  M.  A. 
Withers  returned  to  Dodge  to  receive  the  herd  he  had  sent 
there.  After  reaching  Dodge  and  counting  the  cattle,  Mr. 
Johnson  was  struck  and  killed  by  lightning  while  returning 
to  camp.  Mr.  Withers  was  knocked  from  his  horse,  but 
wasn’t  hurt  further  than  receiving  a bad  fall  and  shock. 

About  the  first  of  October,  the  boss  and  I had  a row  and 
1 decided  I was  ready  for  the  back  trail.  I took  the  buck- 
board  for  Dodge,  which  was  about  300  miles  from  Mobeetie. 
On  reaching  Dodge,  I bought  a ticket  for  San  Antonio.  On 
my  way  home,  I reviewed  my  past  life  as  a cow-boy  from 
every  angle  and  came  to  the  conclusion  that  about  all  I 
had  gained  was  experience  and  1 could  not  turn  that  into 
cash,  so  I decided  I had  enough  of  it,  and  made  up  my  mind 
to  go  home,  get  married  and  settle  down  to  farming. 

PUNCHING  CATTLE  ON  THE  TRAIL  TO  KANSAS. 

By  W.  B.  Hardeman,  of  Devine,  Texas. 

I was  just  a farmer  boy,  started  to  church  at  Prairie  Lea  one 
Sunday,  met  Tom  Baylor,  (he  having  written  me  a note  sev- 
eral days  before,  asking  if  I wanted  to  go  up  the  Trail)  and 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


129 


the  first  +hing  he  said  was,  “Well  are  you  going?  ” I said 
“Yes.”  So  he  said,  “Well,  you  have  no  time  to  go  to  church.” 
So  we  went  back  to  my  home,  got  dinner  and  started  to  the 
“chuck  wagon  and  remuda,  ” which  was  camped  some  six 
miles  ahead.  There  I was,  with  a white  shirt,  collar  and 
cravat,  starting  on  the  Trail.  You  can  imagine  just  how 
green  I was. 

We  put  the  herd  up  below  Bryan.  We  were  gone  seven 
months,  so  I had  plenty  of  time  to  learn  a few  things  in  re- 
gard to  driving  cattle.  We  were  a month  putting  up  the 
herd.  I was  always  left  to  hold  the  cattle,  and  when  we  final- 
ly drove  out  of  the  timber  and  reached  the  prairie,  the  grass 
was  ten  inches  in  height,  green  as  a wheat  field  and  the  cat- 
tle were  poor,  and  hungry,  so  went  to  chopping  that  grass 
as  though  they  were  paid.  There  was  a nice  little  shade  tree 
right  near,  so  1 got  off  my  horse  to  sit  in  the  shade  for  a few 
minutes  and  watch  the  cattle.  The  first  thing  I knew  Tom 
Baylor  was  waking  me.  I thought,  “Well,  1 have  gone  to 
sleep  on  guard.  1 had  just  as  well  put  my  hand  in  Col.  El- 
lison’s pocket  and  take  his  money.”  I never  got  off  of  my 
horse  any  more  when  on  duty,  though  I have  seen  the  time 
when  I would  have  given  five  dollars  for  one-half  hour’s 
sleep.  I would  even  put  tobacco  in  my  eyes  to  keep  awake. 
Our  regular  work  was  near  eighteen  hours  a day,  and  twen- 
ty-four if  a bad  night,  then  the  next  day,  just  as  though  we 
had  slept  all  night,  and  most  of  us  getting  only  $30.00  per 
month  and  grub,  bad  weather  making  from  twenty-four  to 
forty-eight  hours,  never  thinking  of  “time  and  over-time,” 
or  calling  for  shorter  hours  and  more  pay. 

In  Kansas  one  day  for  dinner  we  bought  some  pies,  eggs 
and  milk  from  a granger.  He  informed  Baylor  that  a certain 
section  of  land  that  had  a furrow  plowed  around  it,  did  not 
belong  to  his  neighbor,  but  was  railroad  land  and  the  num- 
ber was  115.  When  I came  to  dinner,  Baylor  told  me  about 
the  section.  He  also  told  me  we  would  not  strike  any  more 
water  that  evening.  This  creek  on  Section  115  had  fine  wa- 
ter, and  he  asked  me  if  I thought  best  to  water  there.  1 
said,  “Yes,”  knowing  I had  to  herd  that  afternoon.  Ham 
Bee  protested,  and  said  we  should  not  treat  that  old  man  that 


130 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


way,  but  Ham  did  not  have  to  hold  the  herd  that  evening, 
so  I insisted,  and  Baylor  said,  “Get  your  dinner  and  fresh 
horses,  1 will  start  to  the  water.”  The  old  man  lived  in  a 
dug-out  on  the  side  of  a hill  where  he  could  see  everything, 
so  when  he  saw  the  cattle  cross  that  furrow,  he  came  out 
with  a shot  gun,  rolling  up  his  sleeves,  waving  his  arms  and 
shouting,  “Take  those  cattle  off  my  land,  or  I will  have 
every  damn  one  of  you  arrested.”  Baylor,  being  in  the  lead 
came  in  contact  with  him  first.  He  said,  “Old  man  there 
must  be  a mistake,  we  have  some  fat  cattle  and  the  agent  of 
the  railroad  (some  four  miles  to  the  depot)  said  he  had  no 
stock  cars  and  for  us  to  throw  the  cattle  on  Section  115.” 
Well,  sir,  you  should  have  heard  that  old  man  curse  that  (in- 
nocent) agent,  as  well  as  the  country  in  general,  stating  he 
had  moved  his  family  out  there,  the  drouth  came  and  it 
looked  like  starvation,  so  he  was  trying  to  save  that  little  grass 
for  winter.  Baylor  compromised  by  telling  him  he  had  a 
family  and  knew  how  it  was,  and  would  be  willing  to  water 
on  one-half  of  the  section  and  would  give  him  a dogie  calf 
that  had  got  into  the  herd  several  days  before  and  we  did  not 
want  it.  The  old  man  got  in  a fine  humor,  had  us  to  send  the 
wagon  by  the  house  to  get  a barrel  of  spring  water — that  was 
the  kind  of  a neighbor  the  old  man  had. 

While  in  the  Indian  Territory  one  day  at  noon,  about  a 
dozen  head  of  range  cattle  got  in  the  herd.  We  did  not  dis- 
cover them  until  we  threw  the  herd  back  on  the  trail,  so  we 
had  to  cut  them  out  and  run  them  back  some  three  miles. 
Some  time  during  the  night  they  trailed  us  up,  and  came  into 
the  herd  and  we  did  not  discover  it  until  we  were  out  of  that 
range.  After  we  got  up  into  Kansas,  I saw  two  men  riding 
around  the  herd  with  Baylor  and  when  he  left  them  he  came 
to  me  and  said,  “Bud,  those  men  are  butchers,  and  said  they 
would  give  us  $300.00  for  those  range  cattle  and  do  not 
want  a bill  of  sale.”  I said,  “Tell  them  the  cattle  are  not 
ours,  so  we  can’t  do  that;  we  will  turn  them  over  to  Col. 
Ellison  and  he  can  find  the  owner,”  and  we  took  them  on.  We 
delivered  that  herd  at  Ogallala,  Nebraska,  took  another  from 
there  to  the  Bell  Fourche  in  Wyoming — a 60-mile  drive  with- 
out water  for  the  cattle.  We  were  just  twelve  miles  from 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


131 


the  buffalo.  By  the  time  we  branded  out  the  herd,  we  were 
short  of  grub,  so  did  not  go  buffalo  hunting,  and  right  there 
I lost  my  only  chance  to  kill  buffalo.  We  were  five  hundred 
miles  from  a railroad,  but  I wish  I had  gone  any  way. 

Tom  P.  Baylor  was  a son  of  Gen.  John  R.  Baylor.  He 
died  some  twenty-one  years  ago.  He  was  as  fine  a man  as 
I ever  knew.  Ham  P.  Bee  is  now  in  San  Antonio,  express 
messenger  on  a railroad. 

In  1883,  I went  on  the  trail  with  W.  T.  Jackman  of  San 
Marcos.  We  started  the  herd  from  Colorado  County  at 
“Ranches  Grande”  owned  by  Stafford  Bros.  While  in  the 
Indian  Territory  one  evening,  two  Indians  ate  supper  with  us. 
I was  holding  the  herd  while  first  relief  was  at  supper.  Dan,  a 
fifteen  year  old  boy  was  holding  the  “remuda”  (saddle 
horses).  We  really  had  two  herds  with  one  wagon,  had 
three  thousand  cattle,  four  hundred  horses  and  one  hundred 
saddle  horses,  fifteen  men  in  all,  and  only  three  six  shooters 
in  the  outfit.  Just  as  1 went  to  eat  my  supper  and  the  horse 
herders  were  going  to  relieve  Dan,  we  heard  him  give  a 
distress  yell  and  shoot  several  times.  Jackman  and  Lee 
Wolfington  mounted  their  horses,  drew  their  guns  and 
started  in  a run  for  Dan.  That  was  one  time  I wished  for 
a gun.  Twelve  men  and  nothing  to  defend  ourselves  with. 
So  you  know  I was  like  the  little  negro,  “Not  scared,  just 
a little  frightened,”  knowing  four  hundred  Indians  were  in 
camp,  just  three  miles  away.  Those  two  Indians  that  had 
eaten  supper  with  us  had  mounted  their  horses  and  osten- 
sibly started  for  their  camp,  but  slipped  around  and  drove 
off  two  saddle  ponies.  Dan  discovered  them  by  skylight, 
hence  the  alarm.  Jackman  and  Wolfington  followed  them 
and  recovered  the  horses,  but  did  not  see  the  two  Indians. 
W.  T.  Jackman  is  postmaster  at  San  Marcos.  He  was 

sheriff  there  for  20  years,  and  as  good  as  Texas  ever  had. 

In  1886,  I went  with  J.  C.  Robertson.  We  drove  for 
Blocker,  Davis  & Driscoll.  They  drove  forty  thousand  head 
of  cattle,  and  had  fourteen  hundred  horses.  We  started  for 
Uvalde,  went  up  the  East  Fork  of  the  Nueces  River,  the 
roughest  trail  I ever  went.  We  could  not  see  all  of  the  cattle, 


132  THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 

only  at  bedding'  time.  When  nearing  the  Territory  one  even- 
ing, a young  man  and  young  lady  came  galloping  by  us — the 
girl  was  well  mounted,  and  had  on  a handsome  riding  habit. 
We  had  not  seen  a woman  for  months,  so  we  were  all 
charmed  and  thought  she  was  the  most  beautiful  object  we  had 
ever  beheld.  All  wanted  to  see  more  of  her.  Joe  Robertson  be- 
ing the  boss,  found  out  we  would  pass  near  where  the  family 
lived  the  next  evening  and  there  was  a fine  spring  of  water 
where  they  lived,  so  that  noon  he  had  me  to  trim  his  hair 
and  whiskers,  his  intention  being  to  take  the  chuck  wagon 
by  to  get  a barrel  of  spring  water.  Of  course  we  all  knew 
it  was  just  an  excuse  to  get  to  see  that  pretty  girl  once  more. 
Sandy  Buckalew  called  out  to  me  to  “fix  the  boss  right” 
and  I did  my  best.  Sandy  was  pointing  the  herd,  and 
had  a chance  to  pass  right  near  the  house  before  Robertson 
could  get  up  there,  so  he  galloped  over  to  the  house  to  get 
a drink  of  water.  The  old  mother  who  was  a very  kind 
and  nice  lady,  brought  him  some  water.  He  thanked  her 
and  began  to  brag  on  the  beautiful  country,  to  all  of  which 
she  agreed,  but  deplored  the  fact  that  there  was  no  school. 
Sandy  saw  his  chance  and  said,  “Well,  that  can  be  arranged 
I think,  as  our  boss  is  married  and  his  wife  is  a splendid 
school  teacher,  and  he  is  well  pleased  with  the  country,  so 
1 feel  confident  that  you  will  have  no  trouble  in  having  him 
to  locate  here.  He  will  be  by  to  get  a barrel  of  water  and 
you  can  mention  it  to  him.”  You  can  imagine  how  the  boss 
felt  when  the  good  mother  did  all  the  entertaining  all  the 
time,  urging  him  to  bring  his  fine  little  wife  and  teach  their 
school.  I don’t  think  he  even  got  a glimpse  of  the  girl. 
We  had  lots  of  fun  out  of  it  anyway,  though  none  of  us  ever 
laid  eyes  on  that  most  beautiful  woman  again.  Joe  has 
never  married,  but  has  more  children  to  look  after  than  any 
of  us,  as  he  has  charge  of  the  San  Pedro  Springs  Park 
in  San  Antonio  and  looks  after  the  children  there,  and  a 
better  man  can’t  be  found.  In  the  final  round  up,  may  we 
all  meet  again. 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


133 


JOHN  YOUNG 


134 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


EXCITING  EXPERIENCES  ON  THE  FRONTIER 
AND  ON  THE  TRAIL 

By  C.  W.  Ackermann  of  San  Antonio 

I was  born  in  the  year  1855  on  the  Salado  Creek  four 
miles  east  of  San  Antonio,  Bexar  county,  Texas. 

My  first  adventure  I can  remember  was  when  I was  six 
years  old.  One  day  my  brother,  ten  years  old,  asked  me 
to  go  with  him  to  hunt  some  cows.  We  both  rode  on  one 
horse.  After  we  had  ridden  for  several  miles  we  found  a 
cow  with  a young  calf.  My  brother  told  me  to  stay  with 
that  cow  while  he  hunted  others,  then  he  would  return  for 
me.  While  he  was  gone  the  cow  and  calf  rambled  off  and 
I got  lost  from  them  in  the  high  grass.  I kept  on  hunting 
the  cow  and  in  the  meantime  my  brother  returned  for  me 
but  could  not  find  me.  After  hunting  for  me  awhile  he 
concluded  I had  followed  the  cow  home,  so  he  went  on 
home. 

My  parents  immediately  began  to  search  for  me. 

In  the  meantime  I kept  on  walking  in  the  direction  the 
cow  went  believing  1 was  going  home  till  night  came.  The 
wolves  began  to  howl  and  scared  me  so  I climbed  up  a 
little  tree  where  I remained  till  they  stopped  howling.  Then 
I crawled  down  and  slept  soundly  under  the  tree  till  the  sun 
woke  me  up.  I got  up  and  started  off  again. 

I walked  all  day  with  nothing  to  eat  but  chapparal  berries 
and  I was  fortunate  enough  to  find  a small  pool  of  water  that 
afternoon.  By  night  I had  not  reached  home  so  I made 
my  bed  under  a tree  as  I had  done  the  night  before. 

That  night  there  was  a big  thunder  storm  and  rain.  1 
was  completely  drenched.  But  my  courage  never  failed 
so  in  the  morning  bright  and  early  I started  out. 

I heard  some  roosters  crowing  so  I went  in  that  direction 
thinking  I had  at  last  found  home.  But  to  my  disappoint- 
ment it  was  only  a Mexican  house.  The  dogs  began  to 
chase  me,  but  the  old  man  called  them  back,  then  took  me 
in  his  house  where  they  were  just  ready  to  eat  breakfast. 

I was  scared  almost  lifeless,  for  I could  neither  speak 
nor  understand  Spanish.  I could  picture  them  roasting  me 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


135 


for  dinner  and  all  kinds  of  horrible  things  they  might  do 
with  me.  Nevertheless  I greedily  drank  the  cup  of  coffee 
and  ate  the  piece  of  bread  they  gave  me  and  asked  for 
more,  because  I was  almost  starved,  but  they  would  not 
give  me  any  more. 

Immediately  after  breakfast  the  old  “hombre”  saddled 
his  horse,  tied  a rope  around  me  and  put  me  behind  him 
on  his  horse.  Then  he  rode  to  an  American  family  and 
got  a written  note  from  the  white  man  that  he,  the  Mex- 
ican, had  not  kidnaped  me,  but  was  taking  me  home. 

The  old  Mexican  took  me  on  home  and  received  a gen- 
erous reward  from  my  father. 

Afterward  I learned  that  I had  roamed  to  Chipadares, 
a distance  of  about  twenty  miles  from  my  home.  At  that 
time  that  was  the  nearest  settlement  southeast  of  home. 

During  the  Civil  War  I was  just  a mere  boy  of  nine  years, 
nevertherless  I can  recall  some  thrilling  adventures. 

My  father  was  exempted  from  the  army  on  account  of 
owning  a flour  mill.  This  mill  was  located  on  the  San 
Antonio  River  about  sixteen  miles  from  our  farm.  Father 
had  to  run  the  mill  himself  so  he  and  mother  moved  there 
and  left  my  older  brother,  13  years  old,  and  I at  the  farm 
to  take  care  of  the  stock  and  everything. 

One  day  while  I was  alone  the  Confederate  soldiers 
came  around  gathering  up  horses.  They  threatened  to 
take  mine  and  had  me  scared  to  death.  I begged  hard  for 
my  horse  and  I told  them  that  I needed  him  to  get  supplies 
with.  After  frightening  me  real  good  they  told  me  I could 
keep  my  horse.  I was  the  only  one  they  left  with  a horse 
around  that  neighborhood. 

The  schools  in  those  days  were  very  much  different  to 
the  schools  of  today.  We  only  had  private  schools  and 
these  lasted  the  entire  year,  our  only  vacation  was  two 
weeks  in  August. 

The  only  subjects  they  taught  were  reading,  writing, 
arithmetic,  spelling,  history,  geography,  and  grammer.  On 
Monday,  Tuesday  and  Wednesday  we  studied  reading, 
writing,  spelling,  and  arithmetic.  On  Thursday  and  Friday 
we  had  history,  grammer  and  geography. 


136 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


I started  to  school  when  I was  eleven  years  old  and 
attended  three  years.  After  that  I was  sent  to  San  Antonio 
where  I studied  surveying. 

When  I was  a boy  rounding  up  cattle  was  a very  exciting 
event.  In  those  days  people  did  not  have  their  pastures 
fenced  so  the  cattle  often  wandered  many  miles  from  home. 

About  the  beginning  of  spring  we  would  start  on  the 
round  up.  Three  or  four  neighborhoods  would  send  out  ten  or 
fifteen  men  together.  Out  of  these,  one  man  was  selected 
as  captain.  I was  just  fourteen  years  old  when  I went  out 
on  my  first  round  up.  My  father  put  me  in  the  care  of  our 
captain  and  from  him  I learned  how  to  rope  and  brand 
cattle  and  many  other  important  things  one  should  know 
abount  round  ups. 

I often  roped  and  branded  as  many  as  eight  or  ten 
calves  by  myself  in  a day.  Branding  was  not  a very  easy 
task  either  for  we  had  to  run  the  brand.  We  had  no  ready 
made  brands  as  now.  Many  times  we  had  to  gather  the 

wilder  cattle  at  night.  When  they  went  out  on  the  prairie 
we  would  sneak  a tame  bunch  of  cattle  in  with  them  and 
thus  drive  them  in  a corral.  Sometimes  we  would  build 
a stockade  around  water  holes  leaving  only  one  opening 
for  the  cattle  to  get  in.  Even  with  such  a trap  we  were 
often  unable  to  hold  the  wildest  ones  in. 

Licenses  permitting  one  to  carry  arms  was  unheard  of  in 
my  earlier  days.  Every  man  always  carried  his  “six-shooter” 
buckled  to  his  side.  This  was  necessary  on  account  of 
there  being  so  many  robbers.  There  were  about  forty 
or  more  highway  robbers  scattered  over  the  country  in 
squads  of  five  or  six  men. 

I remember  one  time  as  three  of  the  other  boys  and 
myself  were  coming  from  the  market  in  San  Antonio  we 
were  waylaid  by  some  robbers.  Fortunately  we  spied  them 
in  time  and  each  of  us  galloped  off  in  different  directions. 
They  fired  at  us,  but  we  all  escaped  unharmed. 

When  I was  sixteen  years  old  I had  a little  experience 
with  horse  thieves. 

My  father  noticed  a suspicious  looking  man  riding  around 
our  place  one  day  so  he  told  us  boys  we  had  better  watch 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


137 


the  horses.  My  brother  and  I went  out  to  guard  the  horses 
that  night  and  just  about  mid-night  the  thieves  came  in  two 
or  three  different  squads.  How  many  there  were  we  never 
knew.  We  watched  them  give  signals  to  each  other  with 
the  fire  of  their  cigarettes.  Then  we  fired  at  them  and 
scared  them  away.  We  hit  one  of  them,  but  never  knew 
if  we  killed  him  or  not.  After  that  we  were  never  bothered 
with  horse  thieves. 

The  robbers  were  certainly  skillful.  I recall  one  day  when 
my  brother  and  I were  out  on  a hunt,  we  laid  down  to  rest. 
We  used  our  saddles  for  pillows  and  put  our  belts  and  “six 
shooters”  under  them.  And  while  we  were  resting  someone 
sneaked  up  and  stole  my  belt  and  “six  shooter”  right  from 
under  my  head.  I suppose  whoever  it  was  thought  I had 
money  in  the  little  money  pouch  on  my  belt,  but  they  sure 
got  fooled. 

In  1872  we  were  not  allowed  so  much  liberty.  A law 
was  passed  which  prohibited  men  from  carrying  concealed 
arms. 

In  1874  horse  thieves  and  highway  robbers  were  so  bad 

something  had  to  be  done.  The  ranchmen  formed  an 

organization  known  as  the  “Stock  Association”  to  rid  the 
country  of  these  marauders.  I was  one  of  the  fifty  deputies 

elected.  After  a year’s  time  we ' had  Bexar  county  clear 

of  robbers. 

My  first  trip  up  the  old  cow  trail  to  Kansas  was  in  the 

year  1873  when  I was  just  a boy  of  eighteen.  My  father 

decided  to  take  some  of  his  cattle  to  the  Kansas  market 

as  they  sold  so  cheap  here.  At  that  time,  one  thousand 

pound  beeves  sold  in  San  Antonio  for  $8.00  per  head  and 
in  Wichita,  Kansas,  for  $23.00  per  head. 

Father  asked  a bunch  of  young  cowboys  if  we  thought 
we  could  take  his  cattle  to  Kansas.  As  we  were  all  young 
fellows,  between  the  ages  of  eighteen  and  twenty-two, 
eager  for  adventure,  we  willingly  consented.  So  on  the 
first  day  of  February  we  began  gathering  our  cattle  and 
finished  rounding  up  a herd  on  March  14th.  Early  next 
morning  we  started  on  our  journey.  We  traveled  all  day 
and  that  night  made  our  first  camping  place  where  Converse, 


138 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


Bexar  county  now  stands,  but  at  that  time  it  was  only  an 
open  country. 

That  first  night  was  one  never  to  be  forgotten.  It  rained 
all  night  long  and  our  cattle  stampeded  eighteen  times. 
During  one  stampede  they  ran  into  one  of  our  men.  His 
horse  was  run  over  by  the  cattle  and  crippled,  while  the 
man  was  carried  off  about  a fourth  of  a mile  on  top  of  the 
cattle.  He  escaped  with  only  a few  bruises.  We  were  lucky 
not  to  lose  any  cattle  that  night,  but  fifteen  head  were  crip- 
pled. 

The  next  morning  we  bought  a two-wheeled  cart  to  carry 
our  bedding  and  provisions  in.  Then  with  a yoke  of  oxen 
hitched  to  it  we  began  our  journey  again  and  made  our 
next  stop  on  the  Santa  Clara  where  now  stands  the  little 
town,  Marion.  That  night  there  was  an  electric  storm  which 
was  followed  by  cold  weather  and  frost.  After  a few  days 
rest  we  resumed  our  trail.  When  we  reached  the  Guada- 
lupe River  it  was  up  about  six  feet.  Our  cattle  had  to 
swim  across  and  our  cart  was  taken  over  on  a ferry  boat. 

At  our  next  camping  place  we  had  another  stampede 
and  lost  thirty-five  head  of  cattle  which  we  never  found. 

When  we  reached  the  Colorado  River  it  also  was  up 
about  four  feet.  After  swimming  that  we  kept  on  the  trail 
to  Round  Rock  where  our  yoke  of  oxen  was  stolen,  so  we 
had  to  rope  and  hitch  two  wild  steers  to  the  cart.  When 
we  reached  Fort  Worth,  at  that  time  a small  town  of  one 
hundred  inhabitants,  we  sold  our  cart  and  bought  a wagon 
and  team  of  horses. 

It  was  a very  rainy  year  and  every  river  we  came  to 
was  up;  however  we  crossed  them  all  without  loss.  When 
we  reached  Washita  River,  in  Indian  Territory,  we  had  to 
stay  there  eight  days  on  account  of  heavy  rains.  There  1 
had  my  hardest  time  of  the  trip.  For  six  nights  I slept 
only  about  one  and  a half  hours  and  never  pulled  off  my 
slicker  and  boots. 

Upon  reaching  the  Canadian  River  we  found  that  so  high 
we  could  not  cross  for  two  days. 

Our  next  stop  was  on  Bluff  Creek  on  the  line  of  Kansas. 
There  one  of  our  men,  Joe  Menges,  roped  a buffalo  calf 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


139 


which  we  carried  with  us  to  Wichita  and  sold  it  to  “Buffalo 
Joe,”  who  was  running  a beer  garden  for  the  amusement 
of  the  trail  men. 

We  camped  on  the  river  called  Ninnesquaw  for  three 
months  in  order  to  fatten  our  cattle  for  the  market.  Then 
my  father  came  to  Kansas  by  train  and  sold  them. 

On  the  seventh  of  September  we  began  our  return  trip 
bringing  with  us  forty-five  head  of  saddle  ponies.  It  took  us 
twenty-seven  days  to  make  the  return  trip  to  San  Antonio, 
Only  five  of  us  made  the  return  trip,  Hartmann,  Eisenhauer, 
Markwardt,  Smith,  and  myself. 

On  my  journey  I saw  many  buffalo  but  killed  only  one 
great  big  one.  I also  killed  seven  antelopes. 

One  morning  while  I was  eating  breakfast  one  of  the  boys 
came  running  up  and  said,  “Chris,  come  on  quick,  buffalo 
ran  in  the  herd  and  they  have  stampeded.”  I jumped  on 
my  horse  and  went  with  him.  The  first  thing  I saw  was  one 
of  the  boys,  Phillip  Prinz,  galloping  after  some  buffaloes 
trying  to  rope  one.  When  he  spied  me  he  came  and  asked 
me  for  my  horse.  I would  not  give  it  to  him  and  told  him 
to  let  the  buffalo  alone  if  he  didn’t  want  to  get  killed.  He 
got  a little  sore  at  me,  but  we  rode  on  back  to  camp  together. 

I think  we  were  the  youngest  bunch  of  trailmen  on  the 
“Trail”  that  year.  The  oldest  man,  Ad.  Markwardt,  our 
cook,  was  only  twenty-five  years  old,  and  the  rest  were 
between  eighteen  and  twenty-two  years.  Those  that  rode 
the  “Trail”  with  me  were  Alf.  Hartmann,  Steve  Wooler, 
Joe  Menges,  Phil.  Prinz,  Louis  Eisenhauer,  Ad.  Markwardt, 
Henry  Smith,  a negro,  and  my  brother  Fred. 

Besides  making  trips  over  the  “Trail”  to  Kansas,  I often 
made  trips  to  the  coast. 

Years  ago  there  were  no  trains  we  could  ship  our  cattle 
on  as  nowadays.  Whenever  we  wanted  to  take  cattle  to 
the  seaport  we  had  to  drive  them.  We  usually  drove  them 
in  herds  of  about  two  hundred  head. 

In  the  spring  of  the  year  we  would  begin  rounding  up 
our  cattle,  as  the  beef  buyers  usually  came  in  the  early 
fall.  Our  captain  would  give  us  orders  for  the  trip,  then 


140 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


we  would  start  out,  each  man  with  his  pack-horse  and  two 
saddle  horses. 

There  were  large  stock  pens  scattered  over  the  country. 
We  would  each  go  in  different  directions  and  all  meet  at 
one  of  the  pens.  At  night  when  we  went  into  camp  we 
would  hobble  our  tamest  horses  with  buckskin  hobbles, 
and  staked  the  wilder  ones.  We  hung  our  “grub”  up  in  a 
tree  so  nothing  could  bother  it. 

After  we  had  all  the  cattle  together  we  would  start  for 
home.  As  we  came  near  to  each  man’s  house  he  would 
cut  his  cattle  out  of  the  herd. 

Then  came  the  beef  buyer.  After  he  bought  as  many  as 
he  wanted,  he  would  get  ready  for  the  drive  to  the  seaport. 
I helped  him  out  many  times  just  to  take  the  trip. 

We  would  often  lose  cattle  on  these  trips  for  they  would 
stampede  and  of  course  we  seldom  found  those  that  got  lost. 
At  one  of  our  camping  places  an  Irishman  had  built  a pen 
on  rollers.  When  the  cattle  stampeded  in  that  pen  there 
was  no  danger  of  losing  any.  When  they  would  run  the 
pen  went  right  with  them.  It  was  often  carried  as  far  as 
fifty  yards. 

In  the  year  1874  I had  another  very  thrilling  experience. 
On  account  of  such  a dry  year  my  father  decided  to  move 
to  a different  location.  He  did  not  know  where  to  go  so 
he  gave  me  the  job  of  hunting  a suitable  place. 

In  August  of  that  year  1 started  out  with  two  saddle  horses 
and  one  pack  horse.  1 went  in  a northwestern  direction 
then  turned  toward  the  Concho  country.  I went  as  far  as 
the  New  Mexico  boundry  line,  then  started  back  home. 

The  country  1 traveled  through  was  very  wild.  There 
were  just  a few  small  settlements  scattered  here  and  there 
and  the  people  even  seemed  uncivilized. 

I saw  antelope  and  buffalo  by  the  thousands.  It  was  that 
year  the  government  was  trying  to  kill  out  the  buffalo. 
I passed  many  mule  trains  loaded  with  buffalo  hides.  Even 
though  the  country  was  wild  I found  some  excellent  locations 
for  a ranch,  especially  in  the  Concho  country. 

When  I returned  home  and  told  father  about  the  wild 
country  and  people  he  decided  not  to  move  so  far  away. 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


141 


So  he  bought  a ranch  close  to  where  now  stands  Wetmore. 
Later  he  gave  me  this  ranch.  1 moved  up  there  in  1877 
and  lived  a bachelor’s  life  till  I married  Emma  Bueche  in 
1882. 

We  lived  on  that  same  ranch  until  1905.  Then  I bought 
a small  farm  of  500  acres  at  Fratt  about  nine  miles  from 
San  Antonio,  and  left  one  of  my  sons  in  charge  of  the  ranch. 

I am  now  living  a quiet,  peaceful  life  on  my  farm. 
Every  time  I go  up  to  my  ranch  memories  of  those  old 
wild,  happy  days  come  back  to  me. 

Now  I am  65  years  old  and  have  a clear  record  of  never 
being  arrested  and  never  was  involved  in  any  kind  of  law 
suit. 

OBSERVATIONS  AND  EXPERIENCES  OF  BYGONE  DAYS 

By  Louis  Schorp  of  Rio  Medina,  Texas 

In  the  spring  of  1873  John  Vance,  a merchant  of  Castro- 
ville,  decided  to  drive  a herd  of  cattle  up  the  Kansas  trail. 
In  company  with  my  neighbors  I helped  to  round  up  and 
deliver  steers  to  Mr.  Vance,  this  being  my  first  work  along 
this  line.  Bladon  Mitchell,  a pioneer  of  Bandera  county, 
was  engaged  by  Mr.  Vance  as  trail  boss.  All  of  the  cattle 
were  received  by  Mr.  Mitchell,  and  driven  to  Bandera  county, 
to  a point  about  two  miles  north  of  the  Mormon  Camp, 
where  Mr.  Mitchell  had  his  herding  pens,  and  what  was 
known  as  the  Mitchell  crossing.  This  property  was  pur- 
chased during  the  early  eighties  by  the  firm  of  Schorp  & 
Spettel,  but  at  the  present  time  it  is  entirely  covered  by  the 
Medina  Lake,  a vast  body  of  water  empounded  by  a great 
concrete  dam.  After  delivering  my  bunch  of  steers  I went 
over  to  Elm  Creek,  a tributary  to  the  Medina  River,  where 
I found  a crowd  rounding  up  cattle  for  Perryman  & Lytle, 
among  whom  were  the  Spettels,  Habys  and  Wurzbachs.  The 
following  day  five  men  out  of  this  crowd,  including  myself, 
were  going  to  Bandera  to  see  the  Vance  cattle  inspected  and 
road  branded.  As  we  were  getting  ready  to  start,  the  steers 
became  frightened  and  stampeded.  I was  the  only  one  on 
horseback,  and  one  of  the  men  yelled  to  me  to  “turn  the 


142 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


leaders  toward  the  bluff  and  mill  them.”  I did  not  under- 
stand the  meaning  of  this,  for  I had  never  seen  a stampede 
before.  I knew  how  to  turn  the  crank  on  a coffee-mill  but 
when  it  was  necessary  to  “mill’  a bunch  of  outlaw  steers  I 
did  not  know  where  to  look  for  the  crank.  I turned  the  lead 
cattle  from  running  into  camp  and  crowded  them  against 
the  bluff,  but  they  did  not  mill,  and  when  I looked  back  I 
saw  that  most  of  the  cattle  had  turned  behind  me.  By  this 
time  all  of  the  men  in  camp  were  on  their  horses  and  it  took 
about  an  hour  to  get  all  of  the  cattle  together  again.  Every 
steer  had  his  tongue  out,  and  ox  tongue  never  looked  so 
cheap  to  me  before  or  after. 

The  next  day  1 went  with  the  boys  to  take  the  herd  out 
to  graze,  and  when  several  miles  southwest  of  Bandera  one 
of  the  men  pointed  to  a large  live  oak  tree  and  said  six 
men  were  hung  to  its  branches  during  the  Civil  War  by 
Confederate  soldiers.  The  next  day  the  cattle  were  inspected 
by  a man  named  Pue.  During  the  inspection  a dispute 
arose  about  a certain  steer  belonging  to  a Frenchman  named 
Cordier  at  Castroville.  1 had  delivered  this  steer  to  Mr. 
Mitchell,  and  knew  it  by  the  flesh  marks  and  it  was  branded 
R I,  but  the  party  calling  the  brand  called  it  B 1.  The 
inspector  asked  for  water  with  which  to  dampen  the  brand, 
and  finding  the  bucket  empty  he  took  out  a bottle  of 
whiskey,  wet  the  brand  with  the  liquor,  smoothed  the  hair, 
and  the  brand  showed  R I very  plainly.  Thus  twelve  dollars 
were  saved  for  the  old  Frenchman. 

1 rounded  up  steers  every  spring  thereafter,  and  delivered 
most  of  them  to  Lytle  & McDaniels  of  Medina  county. 

During  the  year  1874,  while  riding  over  the  range  one 
day  looking  after  stock  I noticed  a cow  running  about  and 
bellowing,  and  rode  over  to  see  what  was  the  matter  with 
her.  1 found  she  had  a very  young  calf  by  her  side  and 
three  wolves  were  trying  to  get  the  calf.  I chased  the  wolves 
away,  and  drove  the  cow  toward  shelter.  The  calf  had 
been  wounded,  and  had  I not  happened  along  when  I did  the 
wolves  would  have  killed  it  I am  sure.  I have  been  on  the 
range  more  or  less  ever  since  4 870  and  this  is  the  only  time 
that  1 ever  saw  wolves  attack  a calf. 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


143 


During-  the  winter  of  1878  and  1879  grass  in  the  Medina 
Valley  was  very  short,  and  many  of  the  stockmen  lost 
heavily.  My  father  at  this  time  owned  about  five  hundred 
cattle,  and  I remember  that  1 skinned  seventy  head  of 
father’s  cattle  that  winter.  In  the  fall  of.  1879  I moved 
the  remainder  of  our  cattle  to  San  Miguel  in  Frio  county, 
to  where  the  Keystone  pasture  is  now  located.  In  the  spring 
of  1880  I purchased  all  of  the  stock  belonging  to  my  father. 
I sold  the  steers  to  John  Lytle,  and  delivered  them  to  him 
in  the  Forks  Pasture  at  the  mouth  of  the  Hondo.  This  was 
the  last  bunch  of  steers  1 sold  and  delivered  to  go  up  the 
trail. 

In  the  fall  of  1882  the  land  in  this  particular  part  of  Frio 
county  where  I ranched  was  purchased  by  a company  from 
Muscatine,  Iowa,  known  as  the  Hawkeye  Land  & Cattle  Co. 
I sold  all  my  land  and  stock  to  this  company  and  moved 
back  to  Medina  county,  where  I have  resided  ever  since. 

In  the  spring  of  1884  I formed  a partnership  with  Ed 
Kaufman,  who  now  resides  in  San  Antonio,  and  we  drove 
a herd  of  horses  to  Pueblo,  Colorado.  I went  with  the  herd 
only  as  far  as  Mason  county.  In  the  outfit  were  George 
Gerdes,  now  with  the  Schweers-Kern  Commission  Co.; 
John  Saathoff  of  Hondo,  Eames  Saathoff  of  New  Fountain, 
and  a cook  whose  name  I have  forgotten. 


MET  QUANNAH  PARKER  ON  THE  TRAIL. 

By  John  Wells,  of  Bartlett,  Texas. 

I was  born  in  Gordon  county,  Georgia,  July  19,  1859. 
My  father  died  when  I was  three  years  old.  I left  home 
in  July  when  only  ten  years  of  age  and  from  that  time  on 
earned  my  way.  The  family  moved  to  Texas  in  ’66,  and  in  the 
winter  of  ’67  to  Bell  county.  First  started  on  the  trail  when 
1 was  23  years  of  age  with  thirteen  men,  including  boss,  cook 
and  horse  rustler.  Worked  for  Hudson,  Watson  & Com- 
pany in  spring  of  ’83.  Gathered  about  eight  thousand  cat- 
tle from  Lampasas,  Burnet,  Llano,  Williamson,  Gillespie  and 
San  Saba  counties.  The  company  sold  three  thousand  cat- 


144 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


tie  to  Bob  Johns,  and  two  thousand  cattle  to  Bill  Shadley, 
also  eighty-five  horses,  chuck  wagon  and  trail  outfit,  drove 
them  to  Taylor  and  shipped  to  Wichita  Falls.  Alex  Webb 
and  1 were  sent  to  San  Antonio  to  receive  and  bring  two 
thousand  cattle  and  twenty-four  horses  to  Wichita  Falls. 
This  bunch  was  then  unloaded  and  thrown  with  the  Burnet 
county  herd  making  a total  of  about  four  thousand  cattle 
and  one  hundred  and  fifteen  horses.  The  cattle  ranged 
from  one  year  olds  to  seven.  We  held  them  fifteen  miles 
from  the  town  between  Wichita  and  Red  River  for  a rest 
period  of  ten  days  to  fit  them  for  the  trail.  While  cross- 
ing at  the  mouth  of  Pease  River,  we  had  ten  steers  to  bog 
in  the  quicksand,  and  after  digging  them  out  we  threw  the 
herd  on  the  prairie  and  camped  for  the  night.  The  boys 
were  all  thirsty,  having  nothing  to  drink  but  gyp  and  alkali 
water.  I saw  a settlement  down  the  draw,  a mile  away,  and 
went  down  and  asked  the  people  for  a drink  of  water.  They 
told  me  to  ride  to  the  spring  where  I would  find  a cup  and 
help  myself.  I went  and  found  a bubbling  spring  as  clear 
as  crystal  which  on  tasting  was  gyp  water  too.  So  I went 
to  the  house  and  asked  if  they  had  some  buttermilk  they 
would  sell.  They  sold  me  about  two  gallons  for  fifty  cents. 
I took  it  back  to  the  herd  and  I and  four  other  boys  drank 
it.  We  were  very  glad  to  get  our  thirst  quenched.  The 
next  evening  we  camped  near  Doan’s  Store  and  there  we 
saw  our  first  Comanche  braves.  The  next  day  the  range 
men  cut  the  herd.  We  crossed  the  South  Fork  of  Red  River 
that  evening  where  thirteen  steers  bogged  and  had  to  be 
dug  out.  One  steer  was  bogged  and  I and  Henry  Miller,  the 
boss,  went  to  dig  him  out.  The  boss  hobbled  his  horse.  I 
told  him  he  had  better  hitch  to  the  horn  of  my  saddle,  as  the 
steer  might  catch  him  before  he  could  unhobble  his  horse. 
I hitched  my  horse  to  his  saddle,  but  being  the  boss  1 guess 
he  thought  he  needed  no  advice.  He  had  the  spade  in  his 
hand  and  we  walked  down  and  dug  out  some  sand  from  the 
animal.  The  steer  began  to  lunge  and  I thought  he  was 
going  to  get  out  and  so  1 got  my  horse  in  between  the  steer 
and  my  boss  in  time  to  keep  him  from  being  run  over  by 
the  steer. 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


145 


JOSEPH  F.  SPETTEL 


JAMES  E.  PETTUS 


W.  E.  CURETON 


M.  L.  BOLDING 


146 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


We  continued  up  Red  River  for  four  or  five  days’  drive. 
Had  plenty  of  grass  and  a good  supply  of  fresh  lakes  of  wa- 
ter until  we  came  to  Wichita  Mountains  where  we  crossed 
the  North  Fork  of  Red  River.  There  we  found  Quanah  Parker 
and  his  friend  waiting  for  us.  He  wanted  a yearling  do- 
nated, and  said  “Me  squaw  heap  hungry.”  After  the  boss 
and  five  of  the  boys  had  gone  to  dinner  I and  four  of  the 
others  were  left  on  herd.  I rode  around  the  herd  to  where 
I came  up  to  Quanah  Parker  and  his  friend.  Quanah  was 
dressed  like  a white  man.  His  friend  wore  breech  clout  and 
hunting  shirt  with  a winchester  to  his  saddle.  Quanah  had 
on  a hat  and  pants  with  a six-shooter  in  cow-boy  style.  I 
made  friends  with  Quanah;  but  1 didn’t  like  the  looks 
of  his  friend.  When  the  boss  returned  to  the  herd  after 
dinner  he  gave  Quanah  a yearling  and  by  that  time  four  or 
five  other  warriors  had  appeared.  They  drove  the  yearling 
to  their  camp. 

We  passed  through  a gap  of  the  Wichita  Mountains  and 
camped  on  the  east  side  of  the  trail.  After  we  had  bedded 
our  cattle  and  eaten  our  supper  we  saw  a prairie  fire  in  the 
foot  hills  on  the  west  side  of  the  trail.  The  first  relief  was 
on  herd.  The  boss  was  afraid  the  fire  might  cross  the 
trail  and  burn  out  over  camp  or  cause  a stampede,  so  he 
called  the  boys  up  and  told  them  to  get  their  horses  and 
named  two  to  go  to  the  herd,  the  remainder  to  go  with 
him.  Alex  Webb  was  to  go  to  the  herd  but  the  cook  asked 
Webb  if  he  was  going  to  leave  his  six-shooter  with  him. 
Webb  told  him  no,  he  needed  it.  The  cook  says,  “By  Jacks, 
when  it  begins  to  thunder  and  lightning  you  fill  this  wagon 
full  of  six-shooters,  but  when  the  Indians  are  around  the 
guns  are  all  gone  and  who  is  going  to  protect  me?”  The 
men  rode  far  enough  to  find  out  that  there  was  no  danger  of 
fire  crossing  the  trail,  then  they  returned  to  camp  and  all 
spent  a peaceful  night. 

We  saw  no  more  of  the  Comanches  and  the  next  tribe 
was  Kiowas  who  were  frequent  visitors  to  the  camp.  There 
were  seventeen  for  dinner  one  day.  Three  squaws  sat  down 
together,  and  two  or  three  papooses  went  to  looking  for 
lice  on  each  mother’s  head  and  eating  them. 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


147 


While  passing  through  the  Kiowa  Indian  country  one  of 
our  men  at  Alverson  had  a close  brush  with  one  of  the  war- 
riors which  might  have  resulted  seriously  had  it  not  been  that 
the  boss  was  close  at  hand  with  his  six-shooter.  The  In- 
dian, after  being  forced  to  put  up  his  winchester,  ran  into  the 
herd  and  killed  two  steers  before  he  stopped. 

1 was  riding  with  the  herd  in  the  Cheyenne  country  when 
a brave  asked  for  a cartridge  from  my  belt.  I told  him  my 
cartridges  were  forty-fives  and  his  gun  was  a forty-four.  He 
made  signs  to  show  me  how  he  would  reload  it  and  1 had 
to  give  him  one.  Then  he  wanted  to  run  a race.  Our 
horses  were  not  at  all  matched,  mine  being  far  superior,  but 
I managed  to  hold  him  in  for  a short  distance  alongside  the 
herd,  so  the  brave  could  join.  The  Indian  parted  with  me 
saying,  “Me  heap  hungry.”  I told  him  to  come  to  Po  Cam- 
po  at  night.  He  came,  bringing  three  friends,  one  of  them 
a youngster  from  college,  out  in  full  war  paint,  breech  clout 
and  hunting  shirt.  He  traded  quirts  with  Jim  Odell,  giving 
him  a dollar  to  boot.  The  Indian  wanted  the  quirt  to  ride 
races  with.  About  that  time  Frank  Haddocks  rode  up  and 
was  mistaken  by  a two  hundred  pound  warrior  for  one  of 
their  tribe.  He  began  talking  to  Frank  in  Cheyenne,  at  the 
same  time  advancing  for  a friendly  bout.  The  college  In- 
dian acting  as  interpreter  called  him  aside,  and  told  him  that 
a family  in  their  tribe  had  lost  a baby  years  before  and  they 
believed  Frank  was  this  child.  They  concluded  then  that 
Frank  had  been  stolen  from  the  Kiowas  and  that  white  people 
had  stolen  him  before  he  learned  to  talk.  Nothing  seemed 
to  shake  their  belief  that  he  was  an  Indian.  They  urged 
him  to  go  to  their  camp.  Frank  asked  me  to  go  with  him 
and  I believe  he  would  have  gone  had  I consented. 

While  we  were  at  supper  the  Indians  were  sitting  on  piles 
of  bedding  which  the  cook  had  thrown  from  the  chuck  wagon. 
One  of  the  boys  said,  “Those  damned  Indians  will  put  lice 
on  our  beds.”  The  cook  heard  this  and  angry  at  having  extra 
company  said,  “I’ll  get  the  fire  shovel  and  get  them  off.” 
The  young  Indian  of  course  understood  and  at  a word  from 
him  they  moved  and  sat  on  the  grass  nearby.  Early  next 
morning  the  Indian  who  supposed  himself  to  be  Frank’s 


148 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


brother  came  and  for  an  hour  or  more  tried  to  persuade  him 
to  come  and  live  with  them.  Frank  asked  me  again  to  go 
along,  and  finally  refused,  when  he  saw  I couldn’t  be 
persuaded.  Looking  back  I can  see  we  might  both  have 
been  benefited  by  staying. 

We  reached  Dodge  City,  Kansas,  about  six  weeks  after 
leaving  Wichita  Falls.  There  the  boss  bought  provisions  and 
after  crossing  the  Arkansas  River,  threw  the  cattle  out  on  the 
table-land  and  camped  for  the  night.  One  incident  broke 
into  the  regular  trail  life  between  this  place  and  Buffalo 
which  it  might  be  well  to  relate.  A Kansas  jay-hawker  had 
been  in  the  habit  of  exacting  toll  from  the  herds  crossing  his 
land  at  Shawnee  Creek.  The  boss  riding  ahead  found  out 
that  he  asked  a cent  apiece  for  the  cattle  and  decided  to  put 
one  over  on  the  gentleman.  At  noon  the  boss  came  back  to 
us  with  instructions  to  get  the  cattle  across  as  quickly  as 
possible  and  not  tell  the  Kansas  man  how  many  head  we  car- 
ried. To  say  about  twenty-five  hundred  if  he  pressed  us.  The 
next  morning  the  boss  wrote  him  a check  for  twenty-five  dol- 
lars and  proceeded  at  once  to  Buffalo,  where  he  wired  Bob 
Shadley  the  owner,  not  to  honor  this  check. 

The  trail  led  through  Buffalo  and  on  beside  the  grave 
of  two  of  Sam  Bass’  men,  Joel  Collins  and  his  partner,  who 
were  killed  by  officers  at  that  place  some  years  before. 

Through  Kansas  and  Nebraska  we  had  good  water,  plenty 
of  grass  and  the  cattle  thrived.  Reaching  Ogallala  our 
cook  quit  and  his  cloak  fell  on  my  shoulders  as  the  only 
one  of  the  bunch  qualified  to  fill  it.  We  crossed  the  South 
Platte  River  and  hiked  out  up  the  North  River  about  sixty 
miles,  where  we  stopped  to  brand  for  nearly  ten  days.  We 
proceeded  to  Sydney  Bridge  and  crossed  below  the  Block 
House.  From  this  place  we  took  the  right  hand  trail  and 
went  to  Fort  Robertson  on  the  White  River,  past  the  famous 
Crow  Burke  Mountain — through  the  Bad  Lands  of  Dakota  and 
crossed  the  Cheyenne  River  three  miles  below  Hot  Springs, 
at  the  foot  of  the  Black  Hills.  We  proceeded  seventy-five 
or  a hundred  miles  further  to  the  Company  Ranch  on  Drift- 
wood Creek.  Webb  and  Odell  stayed  at  the  ranch.  The 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


149 


remainder  went  to  Julesburg,  Nebraska,  with  the  provision 
wagon,  where  we  bought  tickets  and  came  back  to  Texas. 

Should  any  of  my  companions  read  this  sketch  I would 
be  glad  to  have  them  write  John  Wells  at  Bartlett,  Texas, 
or  better  known  on  the  ranch  as  John  Arlington. 


TEXAS  COWBOYS  AT  A CIRCUS  IN  MINNEAPOLIS. 

Bv  S.  H.  Woods  of  Alice,  Texas 

1 was  born  in  Sherman,  Grayson  county,  Texas,  January 
29th,  1865,  and  left  home  in  Sherman  in  the  spring  of  1881, 
when  a lad  sixteen  years  of  age  and  worked  for  Suggs 
Brothers  on  the  IS  ranch,  near  the  mouth  of  Beaver  Creek 
in  the  Chickasaw  Nation,  about  25  miles  north  of  Montague, 
in  Montague  county,  Texas. 

In  the  month  of  July,  1881,  we  left  the  IS  ranch  for 
Wyoming  with  about  3000  head  of  southern  steer  yearlings. 
I was  the  second  boss — the  horse  rustler.  We  started  from 
the  Monument  Hills,  about  15  miles  north  of  Red  River 
Station  on  the  old  Chisholm  trail,  which  was  known  at  that 
time  as  the  Eastern  Trail.  About  the  third  night  out  the  In- 
dians stampeded  our  herd  at  the  head  of  Wild  Horse  Creek, 
which  delayed  us  for  a few  days.  Leaving  this  point,  we 
had  fine  weather  and  moved  along  rapidly  until  we  left  the 
Eastern  Trail,  at  Red  Fork  Ranch  on  the  Cimarron  River 
in  the  Cherokee  Strip,  and  started  up  the  Cimarron  River  to 
intersect  the  Western  Trail.  Here  we  had  some  trouble, 
but  nothing  serious.  When  we  arrived  within  eight  or  ten 
miles  of  Dodge  City,  Kansas,  a beautiful  city,  situated  on 
the  north  bank  of  the  Arkansas  River,  and  about  one  months’ 
drive  from  Red  River,  we  could  see  about  fifty  different 
trail  herds  grazing  up  and  down  the  valley  of  the  Arkansas 
River.  That  night,  we  had  a terrible  storm.  Talk  about 
thunder  and  lightning!  There  is  where  you  could  see  phos- 
phoresence  (fox  fire)  on  our  horses’  ears  and  smell  sulphur 
We  saw  the  storm  approaching  and  every  man,  including  the 
rustler,  was  out  on  duty.  About  10  o’clock  at  night  we 
were  greeted  with  a terribly  loud  clap  of  thunder  and  a flash 


1 50 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


of  lightning  which  killed  one  of  our  lead  steers  just  behind 
me.  That  started  the  ball  rolling.  Between  the  rumbling, 
roaring  and  rattling  of  hoof,  horns,  thunder  and  lightning, 
it  made  an  old  cow-puncher  long  for  headquarters  or  to  be 
in  his  line  camp  in  some  dug-out  on  the  banks  of  some  little 
stream.  After  the  first  break,  we  were  unable  to  control  the 
cattle  longer,  for  just  as  soon  as  we  could  get  them  quiet, 
some  other  herd  would  run  into  us  and  give  us  a fresh  start. 
Finally  so  many  herds  had  run  together  that  it  was  impossible 
to  tell  our  cattle  from  others.  When  lightning  flashed,  we 
could  see  thousands  of  cattle  and  hundreds  of  men  all  over 
the  prairie,  so  we  turned  everything  loose  and  waited 
patiently  for  daybreak.  The  next  morning  all  the  different 
outfits  got  together  and  we  had  a general  round  up.  It  took 
about  a week  to  get  everything  all  straightened  out  and 
trim  up  the  herds.  We  then  crossed  the  Arkansas  River 
just  above  Dodge  City,  and  traveled  north-west  across  the 
State  of  Kansas  and  struck  North  Platte  River  at  Ogallala, 
Nebraska.  Following  the  North  Platte  River,  we  passed 
Chimney  Rock,  old  Fort  Fetterman  and  Fort  Laramie  and 
camped  on  the  north  bank  of  the  North  Platte  River  where 
we  rested  one  day  grazing  cattle,  bathing  and  washing  our 
saddle  blankets.  We  then  started  on  a four  days’  drive 
without  water  (about  sixty  miles)  across  the  mountains 
from  the  North  Platte  River  in  Nebraska  to  Powder  River 
in  Wyoming.  When  we  arrived  on  the  divide  or  the  back- 
bone, between  the  two  rivers,  we  passed  along  where  a 
train  of  emigrants  had  been  murdered  by  the  Cheyenne 
Indians  about  two  years  before.  For  about  the  distance 
of  half  a mile,  the  trail  on  both  sides  was  strewn  with  oxen 
bones,  irons,  and  pieces  of  wagons  where  they  had  been 
burned  but  did  not  see  any  human  bones  because  I didn’t  take 
time  to  make  a close  examination.  From  the  appearance 
of  the  surroundings  there  must  have  been  twenty-five  or 
thirty  wagons  and  ox  teams.  We  were  told  by  old  Indian 
fighters  that  there  were  150  persons  in  the  train,  including 
the  women  and  children,  all  murdered — none  left  to  tell 
the  tale. 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


1 5 1 


By  this  time  the  cattle  were  getting  dry.  They  had 
been  two  days  without  water  and  these  little  southern  steers 
began  to  look  like  race  horses.  All  the  men  were 
in  front  of  the  cattle  except  myself,  the  drag  driver 
and  the  cook.  Of  course,  we  had  to  take  good  care  of  the 
grub  wagon  and  cook.  This  was  in  the  evening  about  4 
o’clock,  and  we  did  not  see  the  men  nor  the  lead  cattle 
until  the  next  day  about  5 o’clock  in  the  evening.  The 
boys  reported  that  the  lead  cattle  reached  Powder  River 
about  10  o’clock,  while  we  did  not  arrive  until  about  5 
o’clock.  After  resting  two  or  three  days,  we  proceeded 
down  Powder  River  to  the  mouth  of  Crazy  Woman, 
a small  stream  that  empties  into  Powder  River,  and  then  up 
Crazy  Woman  River  to  near  the  foot  of  the  Big  Horn 
Mountain  to  our  Wyoming  headquarters.  It  took  us  just 
exactly  three  months  and  twenty  days  to  drive  a herd  of 
southern  “dogies”  from  Red  River  and  deliver  them  at  the 
Wyoming  ranch.  We  rested  a few  days  while  the  Wyom- 
ing outfit  gathered  a beef  herd  for  market  and  delivered  it 
to  us  and  then  we  continued  our  northward  drive  with  the 
beef  herd  to  a station  on  Northern  Pacific  Railroad  called 
Glendive,  on  or  near  the  Yellow  Stone  River  in  Montana. 
When  we  loaded  our  cattle  on  the  railroad  for  Chicago,  all 
the  Texas  outfit  numbering  about  twelve,  took  the  cow 
trail  for  Texas  by  the  way  of  Chicago. 

Our  first  stop  was  at  St.  Paul  in  Minnesota  to  feed  and 
water  the  cattle,  and  while  the  cattle  were  resting,  we  all 
took  the  interurban  street  car  for  Minneapolis,  about  five 
miles  from  St.  Paul,  to  see  the  Barnum  & Bailey  circus. 
We  arrived  at  the  circus,  still  wearing  our  trail  garb,  just 
a short  time  after  the  performance  had  begun.  Of  course 
we  were  feeling  good  by  this  time,  and  just  as  we  entered, 
the  clown  had  his  trick  mule  in  the  ring  and  was  offering 
any  one  $5.00  that  could  ride  him.  Twelve  Texas  cow  boys 
fresh  from  the  range,  thought  that  was  easy  money,  and 
all  wanted  to  win  the  $5.00,  so  we  selected  one  of  our  party 
to  earn  the  money.  (He  is  now  one  of  the  wealthiest  and 
most  prominent  stockmen  of  Texas,  but  I won’t  tell  his 
name).  The  clown  let  out  his  mule  and  we  let  out  our 


152 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


Texas  cow  boy.  One  of  the  boys  had  a pair  of  Texas  spurs 
in  his  pocket  and  we  fastened  them  on  the  boots  of  the 
party  that  was  to  pull  off  the  wild  west  stunt.  The  mule 
was  blindfolded  and  our  man  got  on,  and  when  the  word 
was  given,  one  of  our  boys  pulled  off  the  blindfold  halter 
and  all  and  left  the  two  in  the  ring  ready  for  business.  The 
rider  fastened  his  spurs  in  the  mule’s  shoulders  and  struck 
him  in  the  flank  with  his  Texas  hat  and  that  started  the 
performance.  There  were  thousands  of  people  in  the  au- 
dience to  witness  the  stunt.  The  mule  made  two  or 
three  jumps  and  roared  like  a mountain  lion  and  our  rider 
yelled  like  a Comanche  Indian;  the  mule  would  pitch  and 
roar,  but  our  rider  stuck  to  him  like  a postage  stamp.  As 
the  rider  could  not  be  dismounted  the  mule  laid  down  on 
the  ground  and  rolled  over  like  a ball.  Our  rider  stood  by, 
and  when  the  mule  would  get  on  his  feet  he  would  find 
our  rider  again  on  his  back  until,  finally,  the  mule  sulled 
and  just  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  ring  with  our  rider  still 
on  him  spurring  and  whipping  him  with  his  hat.  The  au- 
dience went  wild  and  uncontrollable  and  the  police  had  to 
interfere  and  pull  our  rider  off  the  mule.  The  $5.00  was 
given  the  rider,  and  after  the  performance  we  returned  to 
St.  Paul,  reloaded  our  cattle  and  continued  our  journey  for 
Chicago,  where  we  delivered  them  and  left  for  Texas. 

I stopped  at  Sherman  and  went  to  school  that  fall  and 
winter  and  the  next  spring  I returned  to  the  IS  ranch  in 
the  Indian  Territory. 

For  -six  years  I worked  for  Suggs  Brothers  during  each 
spring  and  summer,  returning  in  the  late  fall  to  Sherman 
where  I attended  school  during  the  winter  months.  After 
those  six  years  spent  on  the  trail  and  the  range  T returned 
to  Sherman  and  attended  one  full  term  of  school  after 
which  I took  up  the  study  of  law  in  the  office  of  Woods 
& Brown,  of  Sherman,  was  admitted  to  the  bar  in  the  year 
1888,  then  left  for  the  west  to  grow  up  with  the  country.  1 
first  located  in  Haskell,  Haskell  county,  Texas,  but  in  the 
spring  of  1890  one  of  those  blizzards  struck  me  and  1 drifted 
south  and  as  there  were  no  wire  fences  to  stop  me,  I landed 
in  Laredo,  Webb  county,  Texas,  on  the  Rio  Grande  River 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


153 


where  I remained  a short  time,  then  moved  to  San  Diego, 
in  Duval  county,  Texas,  where  I hung  out  my  “shingle” 
and  commenced  the  practice  of  law.  In  the  spring  of  1893 
I was  appointed  county  judge  of  Duval  county,  but  in  the 
spring  of  1894  I resigned  as  county  judge  to  accept  the  ap- 
pointment of  district  attorney  for  the  old  49th  Judicial  Dis- 
trict of  Texas,  (a  warm  district  about  that  time)  composed 
of  the  counties  of  Webb,  Duval  and  Zapata.  I received  this 
appointment  from  the  Hon.  C.  A.  Culberson,  then  governor 
of  Texas.  I served  as  district  attorney  for  one  term  and  in 
1896  I was  again  elected  county  judge  of  Duval  county, 
which  office  I held  continuously  until  August,  191 5,  when 
I resigned  and  moved  to  Alice  in  Jim  Wells  county,  Texas, 
where  1 am  now  practicing  law. 


THE  REMARKABLE  CAREER  OF  COLONEL 
IKE  T.  PRYOR. 

A history  of  the  trail  drivers  of  Texas  would  not  be  com- 
plete without  a sketch  of  the  career  of  Colonel  Isaac  Thomas 
Pryor,  whose  achievements  during  the  past  sixty  years  have 
been  remarkable,  to  say  the  least.  His  life  story  reads  like 
a romance,  for  it  is  made  up  of  thrills  and  pathos,  struggles 
and  hardships,  failures  and  triumphs  that  befell  but  few  men 
who  successfully  overcame  such  obstacles  that  Colonel 
Pryor  met  and  conquered.  A pioneer  of  the  early  days 
of  the  unfenced  range,  he  has  become  the  most  widely 
known  cattleman  of  America,  and  his  reminiscences  if  ever 
written  would  afford  a complete  panorama  of  the  cattle 
industry  of  the  United  States.  From  the  early  days  of 
the  grass  trails  when  the  great  herds  of  the  Texas  long- 
horns were  driven  thousands  of  miles  to  market  down  to 
the  present  with  its  bred  cattle,  its  modern  marketing  sys- 
tem and  rail  transportation,  he  has  been  an  active  partici- 
pant. At  all  the  various  stages  that  mark  this  period  of 
Texas’  development  his  has  been  an  important  part.  His 
has  been  the  directing  mind  in  determining  many  of  those 
steps  where  the  decision  meant  either  the  advancement  or 
downfall  of  the  live  stock  industry.  At  these  times  of  peril 


154 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


he  became  the  trusted  leader,  just  as  in  the  earlier  days  of 
his  young  manhood  he  was  looked  upon  to  lead  and  direct 
when  brawn  and  courage  were  needed  to  assure  right  by 
might. 

Born  at  Tampa,  Florida,  in  1852,  the  third  child  of  three 
boys,  the  subject  of  this  sketch  was  left  fatherless  in  1855 
at  the  age  of  three  years,  through  his  father’s  death.  Short- 
ly after  his  father’s  death,  Mrs.  Pryor  took  her  three  boys 
to  Alabama,  where  two  years  later  she  passed  away.  She 
gave  one  each  of  the  boys,  ranging  in  age  from  five  to 
nine  years,  to  her  three  sisters.  Ike,  the  last  one  being  with 
an  uncle  at  Spring  Hill,  Tennessee. 

At  the  age  of  nine  years  he  ran  away  from  the  home  of 
his  relative  and  boldly  struck  out  into  the  world  for  himself. 
He  plunged  at  once  into  some  of  its  most  awesome  and 
thrilling  scenes.  It  was  in  the  year  1861  with  the  Civil 
War  just  beginning  its  devastating  reign.  Into  the  midst  of 
it  he  entered.  Attaching  himself  as  a newsboy  to  the  Army 
of  the  Cumberland  he  lived  among  the  hardships  of  the 
campaign.  He  witnessed  the  scenes  enacted  at  Murfrees- 
boro, Chickamauga,  Lookout  Mountain  and  other  desperate- 
ly fought  actions  of  the  war  between  the  States  in  which 
the  loyal  sons  of  the  North  and  of  the  South  fought  to  the 
end,  each  for  what  they  held  was  right. 

It  was  in  such  environment  that  tried  the  very  souls  of 
men,  that  an  impressionable  boy  not  yet  in  his  teens,  had 
the  early  molding  of  his  character.  In  it  was  seasoned  the 
courage  that  had  sent  him,  inexperienced  and  frail,  to  chal- 
lenge for  life  and  fortune.  In  these  scenes  in  which  were 
born  the  reunited  nation  with  its  brilliant  future  he  imbibed 
the  spirit  of  empire,  the  broadness  of  vision  and  the  inspira- 
tion of  immensity  that  determined  the  wide  bounds  his  later 
activities  in  life  were  to  reach. 

In  addition  to  helping  mold  his  character,  the  great 

maelstrom  of  war  into  which  he  had  thrust  himself  had  a 

decisive  effect  upon  determining  his  immediate  life  and  ac- 
tions. The  little  newsboy  unafraid,  where  many  a man 

knew  fear,  won  numerous  friends  among  both  enlisted  men 
and  officers.  So  personal  was  the  interest  they  took  in 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


155 


him  that  after  his  pony  had  been  shot  from  under  him  in 
one  of  the  sharpest  engagements,  an  army  surgeon  decided 
it  was  no  place  for  a boy  of  his  years  and  had  him  sent  to 
his  home  in  Ottawa,  Ohio,  where  he  arrived  in  1863. 

As  a background  to  this  remarkable  part  of  Colonel  Pry- 
or’s boyhood  there  is  a story  of  a kind  woman’s  influence 
over  a motherless  boy  and  her  persevering  search  for  him 
that  ended  in  a manner  that  cannot  but  be  considered  provi- 
dential. 

In  one  of  the  former  homes  to  which  the  boy  was  sent, 
he  found  an  elder  cousin,  a beautiful  young  girl  just  enter- 
ing into  womanhood,  who  felt  the  warmest  sympathy  for 
the  orphaned  boy  brought  into  the  home  of  her  sisters  and 
brothers.  She  was  his  defender  in  the  reckoning  over  child- 
ish scrapes  and  his  comforter  in  times  of  childish  grief.  Fol- 
lowing his  transfer  to  the  home  of  his  uncle  at  Spring  Hill, 
this  girl  had  married  Mr.  John  O.  Ewing  and  removed  to 
Nashville,  Tenn.  The  orphan  boy  frequently  thought  of  her 
in  his  new  home  and  longed  for  her  comforting.  It  ac- 
cordingly happened  that  when  he  was  severely,  and,  as  he 
felt,  unjustly  punished  for  a prank  in  which  he  had  played 
an  unwilling  part,  he  determined  to  leave  his  uncle’s  home 
and  go  to  Mrs.  Ewing,  who  he  felt,  would  gladly  give  him  a 
home  with  her. 

He  was  resolutely  making  his  way  toward  Nashville  when 
a sudden  advance  of  Federal  forces  passed  beyond  him  and 
left  him  within  the  Union  lines  thus  determining  his  further 
wanderings.  Incidentally  the  sudden  shifting  of  battles 
around  interrupted  the  pursuit  of  the  runaway  and  prevented 
his  being  returned  to  Spring  Hill,  Tenn. 

More  remarkable  still  was  the  manner  in  which  eventually 
he  was  found  by  Mrs.  Ewing.  Never  losing  faith  that  ul- 
timately he  would  be  located  she  religiously  asked  every  per- 
son who  came  from  the  Union  lines  for  information  of 
him.  One  day  a Federal  forage  party  reached  the  country 
home  where  she  was  living  outside  Nashville.  The  com- 
manding officer,  after  taking  the  supplies  wanted,  courteous- 
ly offered  to  issue  a receipt  for  the  property  taken  so  that 
later  claim  might  be  made  for  the  amount.  He  approached 


156 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


Mrs.  Ewing  to  give  her  the  document  and  pursuing  her 
usual  course,  she  asked  him  if  by  chance  he  knew  aught  of 
a boy  she  described  who  was  thought  to  be  among  the 
Federal  troops.  To  her  unbounded  surprise  and  joy  the 
officer  not  only  knew  the  boy;  he  had  frequently  shared  his 
couch  with  him,  bought  papers  from  him  and  assisted  him. 
More  important  still  he  knew  of  his  being  sent  to  Ottawa, 
Ohio,  by  the  Federal  surgeon.  Means  were  at  once  adopted 
to  get  in  communication  with  the  boy  in  his  new  home.  It 
was  just  in  time,  for  the  adventurous  lad,  thus  placed  on  the 
very  shores  of  Lake  Erie,  had  determined  upon  a maritime 
career.  He  had  even  selected  the  vessel  upon  which  he  was 
to  embark  and  had  made  overtures  to  her  captain.  Only 
the  strong  love  he  felt  for  the  good  woman  who  had  pro- 
tected him  in  his  earlier  childhood  deterred  him  from  be- 
coming a seaman. 

President  Johnson,  himself,  became  interested  in  the 
story  of  the  boy,  which  reached  him  and  in  1864  had  him 
returned  to  his  relatives  in  Tennessee.  He  remained  with 
them  until  1870,  when  he  took  the  step  that  was  the  real 
determination  of  his  future  career.  At  that  time  he  turned 
his  steps  to  the  wide  expanse  of  Texas.  His  first  employ- 
ment was  as  a farm  hand.  For  this  he  received  $15  a 
month.  The  next  year  he  entered  the  cattle  industry.  His 
first  connection  with  it  was  as  a trail  hand,  driving  his  cat- 
tle to  Coffeyville,  Kansas.  This  was  but  the  first  of  a 

number  of  trips  he  made  over  the  now  almost  forgotten 
trails  upon  which  are  found  today  some  of  the  greatest 
cities  of  the  country  as  successors  of  the  hamlets  of  those 
times.  In  1872  he  helped  drive  a herd  of  cattle  from 
Texas  to  Colorado.  From  then  on  his  activities  for  many 
years  were  uninterruptedly  in  the  raising  and  marketing  of 
live  stock  as  practiced  in  those  years.  In  1873  he  was  em- 
ployed on  the  Charles  Lehmberg  ranch  in  Mason  county 
and  there  he  really  began  his  upward  climb  in  the  cattle 
business.  Within  a short  time  he  had  become  ranch  man- 
ager and  in  1874  he  had  the  responsibility  of  driving  the 
cattle  to  Fort  Sill,  then  Indian  Territory,  in  fulfillment  of 
contracts  for  their  delivery  to  the  Indians.  The  following 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


157 


COLONEL  IKE  T.  PRYOR 


158 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


year  he  was  engaged  largely  in  driving  cattle  to  Austin  for 
sale  to  the  butchers  there. 

In  1876  he  became  a ranch  owner,  buying  land  and  cat- 
tle in  Mason  county.  The  next  year  he  again  had  charge 
of  a herd  of  cattle  driven  overland,  this  drove  including 
250  head  of  his  own  cattle,  which  together  with  those  of 
John  W.  Gamel,  were  taken  to  Ogallala,  Nebraska.  Each 
season  he  reinvested  and  as  the  years  passed  in  succession 
he  drove  ever  increasing  herds  of  his  own  to  the  Northern 
markets.  In  1878  he  drove  3,000  head  on  his  own  ac- 

count, in  1879  he  drove  6,000  and  in  1880  he  drove  12,- 
000.  About  that  time  he  formed  a partnership  with  his 
brother  in  Colorado  and  by  1884  he  had  so  increased  his 
drive  that  the  total  that  year  was  fifteen  herds  of  3,000, 
making  a total  of  45,000  head  in  a single  year.  These 
were  taken  to  the  North  and  Northwest  over  the  much  dis- 
cussed Chisholm  Trail,  being  marketed  in  Kansas,  Nebras- 
ka, Wyoming  and  the  Dakotas.  Profits  of  from  $3  to  $5 
a head  were  reckoned  for  the  enterprise  but  a period  of  re- 
verses came  with  the  winters  of  1884  and  1885,  and  despite 
the  large  operations  that  had  been  carried  on,  Pryor  Broth- 
ers showed  a loss  of  half  a million  dollars  and  their  liquida- 
tion resulted. 

Nothing  daunted,  Mr.  Pryor  again  resumed  his  operations, 
centering  his  activities  again  in  the  Texas  field,  where  he 
had  achieved  his  first  successes.  By  this  time  the  innova- 
tion of  the  railways  and  barbwire  fencing  had  greatly  changed 
the  conditions  that  existed  in  the  earlier  days  of  the  open 
range  and  the  trails.  Adapting  himself  to  the  new  condi- 
tions, Colonel  Pryor  again  achieved  success  and  this  time  a 
lasting  one. 

The  Texas  Cattle  Raisers’  Association  had  been  organ- 
ized by  leading  cattlemen  of  the  State  in  order  to  afford 
themselves  mutual  protection  for  their  cattle.  Colonel  Pryor 
early  became  identified  with  the  organization  and  in  1878 
he  was  elected  a member  of  its  executive  committee.  This 
was  the  beginning  of  a long  and  distinguished  service  in  the 
interest  of  organized  cattle  industry.  In  1902  Mr.  Pryor 
was  elected  first  vice  president  of  the  Texas  Cattle  Raisers’ 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


159 


Association  and  in  1906  he  became  its  president  under  con- 
ditions which  made  the  honor  one  especially  great.  This 
was  due  to  the  fact  that  Colonel  Pryor  was  one  of  the  heads 
of  one  of  the  largest  live  stock  commission  firms  in  the 
country  (the  Evans-Snider-Buel  Company.)  Some  oppo- 
sition developed  in  the  convention  to  electing  as  president 
a man  who  was  so  prominently  engaged  in  the  commission 
business,  where  it  was  felt  that  there  might  arise  conditions 
in  which  the  interests  of  the  cattle  raisers  and  the  commis- 
sion merchants  would  be  at  variance.  Those  who  knew 
him  personally  and  therefore  trusted  him  to  the  limit  were 
sufficiently  strong  to  bring  about  his  election.  During  his 
administration  for  the  year  the  others  became  so  thor- 
oughly convinced  of  his  unfaltering  devotion  to  their  in- 
terests that  the  1907  convention  witnessed  the  dramatic 
and  touching  incident  of  his  re-election  without  opposition  by 
unanimous  consent,  attested  by  a rising  vote.  It  was  thus 
he  was  recognized  by  an  organization  that  had  grown  to  a 
membership  of  2,000  cattlemen,  owners  of  an  aggregate 
of  5,000,000  head  of  cattle.  Even  this  tribute  was  not  the 
full  measure  of  their  reliance  upon  him.  The  succeeding 
year,  the  members  of  this  organization,  which  had  grown 
to  be  one  of  the  most  important  in  the  commercial  life  of 
the  nation,  broke  the  time-honored  rule  of  limiting  the 
presidency  to  two  terms.  They  passed  an  amendment  to 
the  constitution  permitting  a longer  term  and  enthusiastically 
named  him  for  his  third  term.  In  1909  he  was  again  im- 
portuned to  stand  for  re-election  but  resolutely  declined. 

In  the  meantime,  Colonel  Pryor  had  also  been  elected 
president  of  the  Texas  Live  Stock  Association,  which  in- 
cluded all  classes  of  interest  in  the  live  stock  industry  of 
the  State.  He  was  importuned  to  accept  another  term  as 
its  head  but  declined  re-election.  Later  he  was  chosen  to 
head  the  National  Live  Stock  Shippers’  Protective  League, 
which  was  organized  at  Chicago  for  the  purpose  of  pro- 
tecting the  interests  of  live  stock  shippers  all  over  the  United 
States. 

On  January  8,  1917,  at  the  convention  held  at  Cheyenne, 
Wyo.,  there  was  added  to  the  other  honors  conferred  upon 


160 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


him  by  the  live  stock  interests  of  the  country,  the  presi- 
dency of  the  American  National  Live  Stock  Association. 
Again  at  the  convention  held  in  January,  1918,  at  Salt 
Lake  City,  Utah,  he  was  elected  to  succeed  himself.  A 

speech  made  by  Colonel  Pryor  before  that  convention  made 
definite  recommendations  to  Congress  for  national  legisla- 
tion affecting  the  cattle  and  meat  packing  industry  and  at- 
tracted nation-wide  interest  and  endorsement.  This  was  per- 
haps the  beginning  of  the  active  campaign  in  behalf  of  the 
Kendrick  or  Kenyon  bill,  as  it  is  generally  known.  In 

1919,  Colonel  Pryor  retired  from  the  presidency  of  the 
American  National  Live  Stock  Association  being  succeeded 
in  that  office  by  Senator  J.  B.  Kendrick.  Last  September 
Colonel  Pryor  went  to  Washington  and  testified  before  the 
Senate  Agricultural  Committee  favoring  the  Kendrick  or 
Kenyon  bill.  This  testimony  was  given  wide  publicity 
through  the  American  press  at  that  time  and  is  believed  to 
have  exerted  a wide  influence. 

While  centering  his  greatest  efforts  in  the  live  stock  busi- 
ness, Colonel  Pryor  has  not  attained  prominence  in  it 
alone.  He  was  first  chairman  of  the  Texas  Industrial  Con- 
gress. In  1908  he  was  elected  president  of  the  Trans-Mis- 
sissippi Commercial  Congress  at  Denver,  Colo.,  and  it  was 
in  a large  measure  through  his  instrumentality  that  San 
Antonio  was  selected  for  the  1909  session  of  that  great 
body.  In  1909  he  organized  and  accepted  the  presidency 
of  the  City  National  Bank  of  San  Antonio.  He  was  at  the 
same  time  vice  president  of  R.  E.  Stafford  & Company, 
bankers,  of  Columbus,  Texas,  and  vice  president  and  one 
of  the  managers  of  the  Evans-Snider-Buel  Company. 

Keeping  constantly  in  touch  with  all  conditions  affect- 
ing the  cattle  market,  he  has  been  able  successfully  to  man- 
age affairs  that  many  would  deem  impossible.  At  the  out- 
break of  the  Spanish-American  War  he  sent  a special  agent 
to  Cuba  to  keep  him  advised  as  to  the  cattle  conditions  on 
that  island.  This  foresight  and  enterprise  resulted  in  his 
sending  the  first  ship  load  of  beeves  that  arrived  in  Cuba 
after  the  blockade  had  been  lifted.  Other  shipments  fol- 
lowed in  quick  order  until  7,000  head  in  all  had  been  landed 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


161 


at  Havana,  bringing  the  unusually  high  prices  that  they 
could  command.  Interested  with  Colonel  Pryor  in  this  bit 
of  enterprise  was  J.  H.  P.  Davis  of  Richmond,  Texas. 

Such  is  his  character  that  it  is  his  great  fortune  not  to  be 
envied  in  his  success  and  honors.  This  is  because  in  his  rise 
to  prominence  and  wealth  he  has  never  been  other  than 
the  same  true-hearted  man  of  the  plains.  To  this  day  his 
office  in  San  Antonio  is  the  gathering  place  of  the  great- 
est of  that  great  clan  of  Texas  empire  builders,  the  early 
cattlemen. 

HABITS  AND  CUSTOMS  OF  EARLY  TEXANS. 

By  L.  B.  Anderson,  Seguin,  Texas. 

I was  born  in  Amit  county,  Mississippi,  March  24,  1849. 
Came  overland  with  my  parents  to  Texas  in  the  spring  of 
1853.  Our  outfit  consisted  of  two  wagons  and  a buggy, 
and  we  also  brought  several  of  our  negro  slaves.  My 
mother  and  the  youngest  children  rode  in  the  buggy  which 
was  drawn  by  an  old  mule.  We  crossed  the  Mississippi 
River  on  a ferry  boat.  1 do  not  know  how  long  it  took  us 
to  make  the  trip  but  we  must  have  made  very  slow  progress 
for  the  older  children  walked  almost  all  of  the  way  and 
drove  an  old  favorite  milk  cow  that  we  called  “Old  Cher- 
ry.” I remember  one  amusing  incident  about  that  old  cow. 
She  had  a growing  hatred  for  a dog,  and  never  failed  to 
lunge  at  one  that  came  near  her.  One  evening  about  dusk 
as  we  were  driving  her  along  the  way  we  came  to  a large 
black  stump  by  the  roadside,  and  Old  Cherry,  evidently 
thinking  it  was  a dog,  made  a lunge  at  it  and  knocked  her- 
self senseless. 

The  one  thing  that  stands  out  most  vividly  in  my  recol- 
lection of  that  trip  is  the  fact  that  I was  made  to  wear  a 
sun-bonnet  all  of  the  way.  1 hated  a bonnet  as  much  as 
Old  Cherry  hated  a dog,  and  kept  throwing  my  bonnet 
away,  and  going  bareheaded,  so  finally  my  mother  cut  two 
holes  in  the  top  of  the  bonnet,  pulled  my  hair  through  them 
and  tied  it  hard  and  fast.  That  was  before  the  days  of 
clipped  hair  and  as  mine  was  long  enough  to  tie  easily,  that 


162 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


settled  the  bonnet  question,  and  I had  to  make  my  entrance 
into  grand  old  Texas  looking  like  a girl,  but  feeling  every 
inch  like  a man. 

We  stopped  in  Williamson  county,  near  Georgetown, 
then  in  the  fall  of  the  same  year  we  came  to  Seguin,  Gua- 
dalupe county,  where  I have  lived  ever  since,  except  when 
I was  following  the  trail.  My  father  bought  a tract  of  land 
west  of  Seguin  for  $1000  cash.  As  it  had  not  been  sur- 
veyed by  either  the  buyer  or  the  seller  neither  of  them  knew 
how  much  land  the  tract  contained.  Twenty  years  later 
father  sold  it  for  just  what  he  had  paid  for  it  and  when  it 
was  surveyed  it  was  found  to  be  several  hundred  acres,  and 
is  now  worth  $100  per  acre. 

There  was  but  little  farming  carried  on  in  those  days,  the 
settlers  depending  on  grass  for  feed  for  their  work  teams 
and  other  stock.  The  crops  of  corn  and  cane  were  made 
with  oxen.  Many  times  I have  seen  the  heel-flies  attack  a 
yoke  of  oxen  and  they  would  run  off,  jump  the  rail  fence 
and  get  away  with  the  plow  to  which  they  were  attached, 
and  sometimes  it  would  be  several  days  before  they  were 
found.  Of  course  we  did  not  make  much  farming  after 
that  fashion,  but  we  did  not  need  much  in  those  days.  We 
lived  care-free  and  happy  until  the  outbreak  of  the  Civil 
War,  when  father  and  my  older  brother  went  into  the 
service  to  fight  for  the  South,  leaving  me,  a lad  of  only  1 1 
years,  the  only  protection  for  my  mother  and  younger 
brothers  and  sister-s,  but  mother  was  a fearless  woman  and 
the  best  marksman  with  a rifle  I ever  saw,  so  we  felt  able 
to  take  care  of  ourselves.  My  duties  during  the  war  were 
many  and  varied.  1 was  mail  carrier  and  general  errand 
boy  for  all  of  the  women  in  the  neighborhood.  Among 
other  things  it  was  my  duty  to  look  after  the  cattle.  Dur- 
ing this  trying  time  the  cattle  accumulated  on  the  range  and 
afer  the  war  when  the  men  returned  cow-hunting  became 
general.  From  ten  to  twenty  men  would  gather  at  some 
point,  usually  at  old  man  Konda’s,  in  the  center  of  the  cow 
range  and  round  up  the  cattle.  Each  man  would  take  an 
extra  pony  along,  a lengthy  stake  rope  made  of  rawhide  or 
hair,  a wallet  of  cornbread,  some  fat  bacon  and  coffee,  and 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


163 


plenty  of  salt  to  do  him  on  the  round-up.  Whenever  we 
got  hungry  for  fresh  meat  we  would  kill  a fat  yearling,  eat 
all  we  wanted  and  leave  the  remainder.  On  these  trips  I 
acquired  my  first  experience  at  cow-punching.  Our  route 
usually  would  be  down  the  Cibolo  by  Panamorea  and  old 
Helena  to  the  San  Antonio  River,  and  up  Clate  Creek  gath- 
ering all  the  cattle  that  belonged  to  our  crowd  and  some 
mavericks  besides.  The  drives  would  generally  wind  up  at 
old  man  Konda’s,  from  where  we  had  started,  and  here  di- 
vision was  made,  each  man  taking  his  cattle  home  where 
they  would  be  branded  and  turned  out  on  the  range  again. 
Some  of  the  men  who  went  on  these  trips  were  Gus  Konda, 
considered  the  best  cow-man  in  Guadalupe  county,  John 
Oliver,  Frank  Delaney,  Dud  Tom,  Whit  Vick,  W.  C.  Irvin, 
John  and  Dud  Jefferson,  Pinkney  Low  and  sons,  and  Gen- 
eral Wm.  Saffold. 

There  was  no  local  market  for  the  cattle,  and  the  Kan- 
sas drives  started  about  that  time.  Eugene  Millett  and  his 
two  brothers,  Alonzo  and  Hie,  engaged  in  buying  beeves 
and  work  oxen  to  send  up  the  trail  in  1869.  My  father 
sold  them  several  yoke  of  old  oxen  which  he  had  freighted 
to  Mexico  with,  and  I helped  deliver  them  to  Mr.  Millett  at 
the  Three  Mile  Water  Hole  north  of  Seguin.  I was  already 
a cowboy  in  my  own  estimation,  those  hunts  on  the  range 
having  given  me  a taste  of  the  life.  Hearing  Millett’s  men 
tell  of  their  trips  up  the  trail  I decided  at  once  that  that 
was  the  life  for  me,  so  I told  my  father  I wanted  to  go 
with  the  herd.  He  very  reluctantly  gave  his  consent,  but 
made  me  promise  that  if  I was  going  to  be  a cow  man  that 
I would  be  “an  honest  one.”  He  then  proceeded  to  give  me 
a lot  of  good  advice,  and  presented  me  with  a ten  dollar 
gold  piece  for  use  on  the  trip.  My  mother  sewed  that 

money  in  the  band  of  my  trousers  (breeches  we  called  them 
in  those  days)  and  I carried  it  to  Kansas  and  back  that 
way  and  when  I returned  home  I gave  it  back  to  my 
father. 

The  next  fall  and  winter  I worked  for  Pinkney  Low 
gathering  cattle  on  the  range  to  be  taken  up  the  trail  in 
the  spring.  1 went  on  the  trail  every  year  thereafter  until 


164 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


1887,  when  the  trail  was  virtually  closed.  I went  twice 
as  a hand  and  sixteen  times  as  boss  of  the  herd.  I drove 
over  every  trail  from  the  Gulf  of  Mexico  to  the  Dakotas 
and  Montana,  but  the  Chisholm  trail  was  the  one  I trav- 
eled the  most.  The  men  I drove  for  were  E.  B.  Millett, 
Alonzo  Millett,  Hie  Millett,  Colonel  Seth  Maberry,  W.  C. 
Irvin,  Tom  and  John  Dewees  and  Jim  SherrilL  The  places 
I most  often  delivered  cattle  to  were  Baxter  Springs,  Great 
Bend,  Newton,  Abilene,  Ellsworth  and  Dodge  City,  Kansas, 
Ogallala  and  Red  Cloud  Agency,  Nebraska,  Fort  Fetterman, 
Wyoming,  and  Dan  Holden’s  ranch  in  Colorado  on  Chug 
River.  Some  of  the  most  prominent  cattlemen  I knew  in 
those  days  were  Pressnall  and  Mitchell,  John  Blocker,  Jim 
Ellison,  D.  R.  Fant,  John  Lytle  and  Dick  Head. 

My  experiences  on  the  trail  were  many  and  varied,  some 
perilous  and  some  humorous.  I remember  one  exciting 
time  in  particular,  when  I was  taking  a herd  for  Millett  & 
Irvin  from  their  Panhandle  ranch  to  Old  Fort  Fetterman  in 
the  Rocky  Mountains.  The  Sioux  Indians  made  a raid  on 
us,  got  off  with  most  of  our  horses  and  all  of  our  pro- 
visions. We  had  nothing  to  eat  except  buffalo  and  antelope 
meat  until  we  reached  North  Platte  City,  a distance  of  two 
hundred  miles. 

In  1871  I went  up  the  trail  with  T.  B.  Miller  and  Bill 
Mayes.  We  crossed  at  Red  River  Station,  and  arrived  at 
Newton,  Kansas,  about  the  time  the  railroad  reached  there. 
Newton  was  one  of  the  worst  towns  I ever  saw,  every  ele- 
ment of  meanness  on  earth  seemed  to  be  there.  While  in 
that  burg  I saw  several  men  killed,  one  of  them  I think  was 
Jim  Martin  from  Helena,  Karnes  county. 

One  fall  after  I returned  from  Wyoming,  Millett  sent  me 
to  the  Indian  Territory  to  issue  beef  to  the  Indians  on  a 
government  contract.  I was  stationed  at  Anadarko  on  the 
Washita  River,  and  issued  but  once  a week  at  Fort  Sill  and 
Cheyenne  Agency  on  the  Canadian  River.  There  I saw  my 
first  telephone.  It  was  a crude  affair,  and  connected  the 
agent’s  store  and  residence,  a distance  of  several  hundred 
yards.  The  apparatus  consisted  of  one  wire  run  through 
the  walls  of  the  store  and  house  with  a tube  at  each  end 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


165 


through  which  you  had  to  blow  to  attract  the  attention  of 
the  party  called,  and  then  you  could  talk  over  it  as  well  as 
any  phone  of  the  present  time. 

1 was  in  Abilene  when  Wild  Bill  Hickok  had  full  sway 
in  that  town  and  it  was  .dangerous  for  a man  to  walk  the 
streets.  I was  there  when  he  killed  Phil  Coe. 

Some  of  the  old  cowboys  who  followed  the  trail  from 
this  country  were  the  twin  brothers,  Cap  and  Doc  Smith,  Dud 
Tom,  Joe  Ellis,  Haynes  Morgan,  Mit  Nickols,  John  and  Fen- 
ner Jefferson,  Whit  Vick,  Bill  Coorpender,  Frank  Rhodes, 
Leroy  Sowell,  Billie  McLean,  Billie  Thompson,  Pat  Burns, 
Tom  Terrell,  John  and  Tom  Lay  and  many  others. 

The  journeys  up  the  trail  were  beset  by  many  dangers  and 
difficulties.  Savage  Indians  often  attacked  the  herd  in  at- 
tempts to  cause  a stampede.  Few  outfits  were  strong  enough 
to  repel  the  Indians  by  force  and  were  compelled  to  pay 
them  tribute  in  the  form  of  beef.  To  do  the  work  required 
on  those  drives  took  men  of  strong  nerves,  iron  bodies  and 
alert  brains. 

The  last  trip  I made  was  in  1887,  when  I drove  horses. 
1 bought  them  from  Redman  and  his  partner,  through  Mr. 
George  Saunders.  They  were  a bunch  of  Spanish  mares 
just  from  Mexico,  and  I remember  a squabble  I had  with 
two  other  buyers  over  a big  white  and  black  paint  stud  that 
happened  to  be  in  the  bunch.  I got  the  stud  all  right,  and 
made  big  money  on  him  as  well  as  all  of  the  other  horses. 

In  1888  I married  and  settled  down  on  my  farm,  but 
never  could  quite  give  up  the  cattle  business,  and  on  a small 
scale  have  handled  some  kind  of  cattle  ever  since,  but  the 
Jersey  or  any  other  breed  of  milk  cow  has  never  appealed 
to  me  as  the  Texas  longhorn  did.  After  thirty  years  of 
settled  life  the  call  of  the  trail  is  with  me  still,  and  there  is 
not  a day  that  I do  not  long  to  mount  my  horse  and  be  out 
among  the  cattle. 


166 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


HIT  THE  TRAIL  IN  HIGH  PLACES. 

By  Jeff  Connolly,  of  Lockhart,  Texas. 

I was  born  at  Prairie  Lea  in  1863  and  moved  to  Lock- 
hart in  1876.  My  experience  in  the  good  old  days  gone  by, 
was  as  follows: 

Drove  on  the  trail  for  old  Captain  King  of  Nueces  Coun- 
ty in  1880  with  a man  by  the  name  of  Coleman  as  boss 
and  when  I got  as  far  as  Taylor,  King  sent  me  back  and  I 
helped  another  brother  of  this  man  Coleman  drive  another 
herd  of  the  King  cattle  to  Red  River.  The  only  white  men 
with  the  herd  was  Coleman  and  myself,  the  balance  of  the 
bunch  being  Mexicans.  All  the  old  timers  know  how  King 
handled  the  Mexicans — he  had  them  do  the  work  and  let 
the  white  men  do  the  bossing. 

I was  on  the  trail  that  year  about  three  months  and  drew 
a salary  of  $1.50  per  day  and  board  was  furnished  me. 

During  the  winter  of  ’81  and  spring  of  ’82  I drove  cat- 
tle for  Geo.  W.  Littlefield  of  Austin,  who  I am  sure  all  the 
old  timers  remember  and  regard  very  highly.  I went  with 
A.  A.  Woodland,  who  all  the  old  timers  in  Lockhart  knew 
very  well  and  who  lived  here  during  his  latter  days.  When 
we  got  to  old  Fort  Griffin  we  cut  the  stock  cattle  all  out 
which  amounted  to  about  1000  cows  at  that  time.  Myself 
and  two  other  men  held  these  at  Foil  Creek  this  side  of 
Fort  Griffin  until  another  herd  reached  us,  which  was  about 
thirty  days.  Then  we  turned  them  in  with  another  herd  of 
Littlefield’s  cattle  that  was  being  handled  by  a man  by  the 
name  of  McCarty,  another  Irishman  who  looks  about  like 
I do.  From  there  we  went  on  to  the  Pecos  River  where  the 
L F D ranch  of  Littlefield  was  established,  known  to  be  one 
of  the  foremost  ranches  in  that  part  of  the  country.  We 
had  plenty  of  good  horses  on  this  drive  and  McCarty  and 
Littlefield  bought  fifty  more  when  we  reached  Fort  Griffin, 
from  a Mexican  at  that  place.  These  last  horses  they 
bought  had  a colt  every  once  in  awhile  as  we  were  mount- 
ing them  in  the  mornings. 

This  herd  of  cattle  McCarty  was  looking  after  was  bought 
from  Jim  Ellison,  a noted  cow  man  in  Caldwell  county  in 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


167 


the  seventies,  who  owned  what  was  then  known  as  the  El- 
lison ranch  where  these  cattle  were  delivered  to  Littlefield. 

I came  back  that  fall  with  old  Tom  Mumphers  of  Gon- 
zales and  another  man  whose  name  I have  forgotten. 

Last  time  1 was  in  Austin,  about  six  years  ago,  1 went 
in  to  the  American  National  Bank  with  a friend  of  mine  and 
I asked  the  teller  of  the  bank  where  the  Major  was.  He 
told  me  he  was  back  in  his  private  office.  This  friend  of 
mine  wanted  to  know  why  1 was  asking  about  Major  Lit- 
tlefield and  asked  me  if  I knew  he  was  a millionaire. 
I told  him  that  I knew  that,  but  that  1 used  to  drive  on  the 
old  trail  for  him  and  was  anxious  to  see  him.  1 went  back 
and  told  the  Major  who  1 was  and  he  treated  me  as  fine  as 
any  man  was  ever  treated.  If  1 had  been  a millionaire  my- 
self he  could  not  have  treated  me  any  better  and  that’s  what 
makes  us  common  fellows  like  him.  He  is  just  as  plain  as 
if  he  didn’t  have  any  more  than  we  have.  We  talked  about 
old  times  when  other  fellows  like  Bud  Wilkerson,  Phelps 
White,  Tom  White,  some  of  his  men,  used  to  work  with 
me  for  him.  He  told  me  these  three  fellows  were  still  with 
him  on  the  ranch  and  making  good. 

In  1884  1 drove  a herd  of  horses  from  Banquette  in 
Nueces  county  for  a man  by  the  name  of  Frank  Byler.  Right 
at  the  edge  of  Lockhart,  where  we  camped  that  night,  and 
from  where  we  started  to  town  next  morning,  we  were  ar- 
rested by  Sheriff  Allie  Field,  for  trespassing.  We  had 
no  money  and  Frank  did  not  know  what  in  the  world  to  do 
and  I told  him  to  go  to  Dr.  Blanks  of  Lockhart,  a great 
friend  of  the  old  trailers  and  he  would  loan  us  the  money  to 
pay  the  fine.  We  borrowed  $50.00  in  money  and  bought 
$50.00  worth  of  grub  on  credit  and  when  we  got  to  Onion 
Creek  we  sold  two  horses  for  $100.00  and  in  a few  days 
we  were  in  Manor  where  we  sold  several  head  of  horses  and 
sent  the  money  to  Lockhart  and  from  that  time  on  we  had 
plenty  of  money  to  do  us. 

When  we  got  to  Hillsboro,  it  was  very  cold  and  raining 
and  we  broke  our  wagon  down  and  had  to  stop.  Our  horses 
stampeded  all  over  that  country  and  twenty-seven  froze  to 
death  that  night. 


168 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


We  remained  there  about  four  days  waiting  for  it  to 
thaw  out  and  when  it  did,  we  sold  about  forty-five  saddle 
horses  to  an  old  cowman  of  the  Red  River  country.  We 
headed  from  there  to  Red  River  and  when  we  got  there  the 
river  was  up  and  we  got  a little  of  that  stuff  that  livens  up. 
The  herd  attempted  to  stampede,  but  we  held  them  and  put 
them  across  all  right. 

Everything  went  well  until  we  got  to  the  Washita  where 
the  herd  stampeded  again  and  we  were  two  days'  crossing 
the  river.  One  night  1 stayed  over  there  with  the  Indians. 
This  side  of  Okmulgee  we  went  out  hunting  a place  to 
camp  one  evening  and  come  across  a little  clump  of  trees 
where  we  saw  a man  hanging  there  by  the  neck  with  a sign 
on  him,  “Death  to  the  one  who  cuts  him  down.”  We  saw 
he  was  dead  and  we  did  not  cut  the  rope — we  went  on  fur- 
ther to  camp  that  night. 

We  reached  the  Arkansas  River  in  a few  days  where  we 
had  to  lay  four  days  on  account  of  the  river  being  up.  Just 
before  we  crossed  we  found  that  the  Indians  had  stolen  a lot 
of  blankets  from  our  Mexicans.  I made  our  bunch  of  Mexi- 
cans go  up  to  their  camp  and  steal  some  of  the  Indians’ 
blankets  and  slickers  and  the  next  day  when  we  crossed  the 
river,  the  Indians  were  pointing  at  the  Mexicans,  noticing 
that  they  had  stolen  their  blankets  and  slickers.  They  were 
talking  Indian  and  our  Mexicans  did  not  know  what  they 
were  talking  about.  We  had  no  further  trouble  until  we  got 
to  Baxter  Springs,  Kansas.  The  first  night  we  were  camped 
on  the  state  line,  we  had  a big  stampede.  The  Indians  were 
there  to  count  us  up  for  grass  fee  and  we  run  them  through 
so  fast  they  could  not  count  them  and  lost  count.  They 
accepted  our  count  and  of  course  we  guessed  them  low 
enough  to  take  care  of  ourselves. 

We  did  very  well  selling  these  out  to  people  all  over  the 
United  States  as  there  were  traders  there  from  everywhere. 

In  1885  1 drove  cattle  with  Bill  Jackman  of  San  Marcos, 
the  herd  belonging  to  Hez  Williams  and  Bill  Goode  of  Kyle. 
This  herd  was  put  up  at  Rancho  Grande  in  Wharton  county 
by  Bob  Stafford  of  Columbus.  When  we  got  to  old  Texar- 
kana we  had  a big  stampede  that  night  and  whipped  them 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


169 


SAMUEL  D.  HOUSTON 


A.  HUFFMEYER 


G.  W.  MILLS 


R.  F.  SELLERS 


170 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


in  and  ran  them  over  one  another  trying  to  hold  them  until 
they  looked  like  they  had  been  in  a wreck.  They  had  “run” 
on  the  brain  all  the  way  until  we  got  to  Kyle.  When  we 
reached  there  every  fellow  was  about  on  foot  as  our  horses 
had  played  out,  so  we  put  the  herd  in  Desha  Bunton’s  pas- 
ture, and  stayed  there  several  days  to  get  a new  outfit  of 
horses  and  had  them  all  shod  up  to  go  through  the  moun- 
tains and  get  a new  outfit  of  men  also  as  the  boys  all  quit 
except  Fisher,  Jackman  and  myself.  We  pulled  out  from 
there  with  a new  set  of  men  and  horses  headed  for  Deer 
Trail,  Colorado,  south  of  Cheyenne.  A few  nights  after  we 
left  Kyle,  we  had  a big  rain  and  the  cattle  drifted  pretty 
well  all  night  and  Tom  Fisher  and  myself  came  up  on  a 
man  camped  in  a wagon  and  told  him  to  get  up  for  it  was 
daylight.  When  he  got  up,  we  both  crawled  in  with  our 
wet  clothes  on  and  went  to  sleep  and  left  him  on  the  out- 
side. When  morning  came,  we  got  up  and  began  rounding 
up  the  herd  and  none  of  the  bunch  had  missed  us.  We 
traveled  along  all  right  then  until  we  reached  Bell  Plains  one 
evening.  There  a Dutchman  came  out  and  told  us  to  move 
on  and  we  told  him  to  hunt  a warmer  climate,  that  we  were 
going  to  camp  there  that  night.  About  twelve  o’clock  that 
night,  he  and  the  sheriff  came  to  our  camp  hunting  the  boss 
and  couldn’t  find  him.  They  went  away  and  next  morning 
before  breakfast  they  came  back  again  and  wanted  to  know 
where  the  boss  was  and  we  told  him  we  didn’t  have  any. 
He  wanted  to  stop  our  herd  of  cattle  but  we  told  him  if  they 
did  they  would  have  to  give  a $30,000  bond  as  these  cattle 
were  mortgaged  and  could  not  be  stopped  without  somebody 
giving  bond.  The  sheriff  called  us  off  and  talked  with  us 
awhile  and  told  us  he  would  see  us  about  it  and  this  was 
the  last  we  ever  heard  of  the  matter. 

Everything  went  all  right  from  here  until  we  got  up  to 
Doan’s  Store,  when  one  night  the  wagons  caught  fire  and 
burned  the  wagon  sheet.  We  got  busy  just  at  this  time 
trying  to  save  our  coffee  and  a little  meat  we  had  picked  up 
from  the  3 D cattle. 

From  there  we  had  to  rustle  a wagon  sheet  to  keep  every- 
thing dry  when  the  rains  came  up.  We  got  along  all  right 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


171 


from  here  until  we  got  to  Wolf  Creek  at  old  Camp  Supply, 
where  they  quarantined  us  and  we  had  to  go  down  to  No 
Man’s  Land,  a strip  between  the  Panhandle  and  Kan- 
sas, now  a part  of  Oklahoma.  Crossing  the  plains  it  drizzled 
very  nearly  every  night,  just  enough  to  make  the  cattle  walk 
till  about  eleven  o’clock  at  night.  When  we  got  to  Beaver, 
this  side  of  the  Arkansas  River  in  Colorado,  we  sold  the  cat- 
tle. After  we  turned  them  over  Bill  Jackman  and  myself 
came  back  over  the  trail  and  met  Alex  Magee  and  his  cat- 
tle and  stopped  him  for  a few  days  to  let  his  cattle  rest  up 
as  we  knew  the  people  that  had  contracted  his  cattle  were 
waiting  for  him  and  we  wanted  his  bunch  to  look  good 
when  he  got  there.  Wanted  them  to  show  up  all  right  so 
there  would  be  no  kick.  When  we  brought  the  cattle  up  to 
turn  them  over  to  the  buyers,  they  received  them  with  the 
understanding  that  we  had  to  brand  them.  We  carried  them 
up  Beaver  Creek  for  about  40  miles  where  we  branded 
them,  and  after  we  had  done  this,  they  asked  us  to  carry  a 
bunch  of  about  three  hundred  white  face  Herefords,  the  first  I 
ever  saw,  up  in  the  Rocky  Mountains  and  put  them  in  win- 
ter quarters.  When  we  got  them  there,  he  fitted  us  up  with 
fresh  horses  and  everything  and  started  us  for  West  Los  An- 
geles to  ship  us  back  home. 

In  1886  I started  to  go  up  with  Bill  Jackman  again,  but 
when  1 got  to  the  Hutcheson  ranch  near  San  Marcos,  Jack- 
man  was  there  and  told  me  he  had  sold  the  cattle  to  John 
Blocker  who  would  be  there  directly  with  his  outfit  to  re- 
ceive them.  When  they  came  he  recommended  me  to  the 
man  who  was  in  charge  of  the  cattle — a man  by  the  name 
of  Murchison,  who  was  also  in  charge  of  the  horses  and  out- 
fit. Next  day  we  rounded  up  the  pasture  but  they  didn’t 
take  the  cattle,  and  we  went  from  there  on  to  Kyle  to  the 
Vaughn  pasture.  Arch  Odem  in  a few  days  bought  about 
1500  head  of  cattle  down  on  the  Guadalupe  River  and 
brought  them  up  to  where  we  were  and  turned  them  over 
to  us.  We  went  on  up  in  a few  days  to  the  Hez  Williams 
ranch  and  got  about  800  more  steers.  In  a few  days  we 
got  about  700  head  more  from  places  near  there,  then  pulled 
out  for  the  trail,  being  the  first  herd  of  the  Blocker  cattle  for 


172 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


that  year.  When  we  got  between  Runnels  and  Abilene  we 
laid  in  wait  there  until  ten  more  herds  of  the  Blocker  cattle 
caught  up  with  us.  Then  we  shaped  up  ten  herds  to  go  on 
to  Colorado  and  1 and  my  bunch  cut  cattle  all  the  way  until 
we  got  to  Red  River.  At  Red  River  we  took  the  lead  cattle 
out  of  two  herds  and  put  them  together  in  one  herd  and 
left  the  drags  together  in  another  herd. 

When  we  reached  the  Wichita  mountains  in  Indian  Ter- 
ritory the  Indians  met  us  there  and  wanted  beef.  I had  a 
big  black  range  steer  I had  picked  up  in  Texas  and  when  I 
got  up  in  the  roughest  part  of  the  mountains,  1 cut  this 
steer  out  and  told  them  to  go  after  him.  The  steer  out  ran 
them  and  got  away  and  directly  I saw  them  coming  back, 
one  after  another  like  they  travel,  but  without  any  beef.  The 
next  day  the  trail  cutters  looked  us  up  and  did  not  find 

anything.  Then  we  went  on  until  we  got  to  Camp  Supply 

where  we  had  to  go  across  the  plains  again  and  it  was 
very  dry.  The  first  evening  we  struck  the  plains  we  drove 
right  square  until  night  and  I held  up  the  lead  cattle 

and  the  wagon  was  not  in  sight  at  this  time.  We 

camped  there  that  night  and  there  came  the  hardest  rain 
I ever  saw  fall  and  it  was  so  cold  we  nearly  shook  ourselves 
to  death.  It  rained  all  the  time  from  there  on  to  Hugo, 
Colorado,  where  Blocker  turned  these  cattle  loose  and  where 
they  were  re-branded  and  turned  loose  again. 

From  Hugo  I helped  take  about  1000  head  of  saddle 
horses  and  put  them  in  winter  quarters  and  when  that  was 
done  I came  back  home. 


THE  MEN  WHO  MADE  THE  TRAIL. 

By  Luther  A.  Lawhon,  San  Antonio,  Texas. 

We  can  scarcely  estimate  the  debt  which  we  owe  to  the 
men  who  made  the  Trail.  Lest  we  forget — those  pioneer 
settlers  and  ranchmen  were  not  only  empire  builders,  but 
were  also  the  “mudsillers”  upon  which  has  been  erected 
that  supberb  structure  of  productive  wealth — the  American 
live  stock  industry,  as  it  exists  today  west  of  the  Mississippi. 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


173 


It  is  indeed  a far  stretch  from  the  domesticated  gentle 
thoroughbred  to  the  wild,  untamable  “longhorn.”  But  is  it  not 
well  that  at  times  we  take  a retrospective  view,  and  con- 
trast the  present  with  the  past?  By  so  doing,  we  may  the 
better  determine  the  extent  to  which  this  all  important  in- 
dustry has  progressed,  with  our  geographical  development, 
and  also  incidentally  keep  alive  the  memories  and  the  tra- 
ditions of  a bygone  age. 

By  a degree  of  good  fortune,  it  fell  to  me  to  be  reared 
from  infancy  to  manhood  in  Southwest  Texas,  in  the  midst 
of  that  favored  section  when  it  was  one  vast  breeding  ground 
for  cattle  and  horses,  and  from  which  was  afterward  to  be 
driven  those  herds  that,  moving  across  the  prairies  of  Texas 
and  through  the  Indian  Territory,  from  1869  to  1886, 
poured  into  the  wild  and  unsettled  area  from  Kansas  to  the 
British  Dominions.  In  the  days  and  in  the  section  of  which 
I treat  the  railroad,  the  telegraph  and  the  telephone  were 
unkown.  A greater  part  of  the  land  still  belonged  to  the 
State,  and  was  prized  in  the  main  for  the  grasses  which 
grew  upon  it;  fencing  wire  had  not  been  invented,  and  in 
consequence,  the  entire  country,  except  where  dotted  with 
ranches,  was  unfenced  and  uncontrolled — a common  pasture 
in  which  thousands  of  horses  and  cattle  roamed  at  will. 

In  imagination  reverting  again  to  those  bygone  scenes, 
I shall  endeavor  to  describe  briefly  some  of  the  conditions 
which  surrounded  the  old  time  Texas  ranchman,  his  peculiar- 
ities and  his  customs.  The  country  at  large  was  sparsely 
settled.  In  a majority  of  the  counties  there  was  barely  suf- 
ficient population  for  county  organization.  The  largest  and 
in  most  instances,  the  only  town  in  the  county,  was  the 
county  seat  village,  with  its  rock  or  lumber  court  house, 
which  was  rarely  of  two  stories,  and  near  by,  as  an  adjunct, 
a one-cell  rock  or  lumber  jail.  Around  the  public  square 

were  built  the  few  unpretentious  store  houses,  that  flaunted 

the  proverbial  signs,  “Dry  Goods  and  Groceries”  or  “Dry 
Goods,  Boots  and  Shoes,”  as  the  case  might  be.  That  the 
weaknesses  as  well  as  the  social  predelictions  of  the  sturdy 
citizenship  might  be  readily  and  conveniently  catered  to,  a 

saloon  or  perhaps  several,  could  always  be  found  on  or 


174 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


near  the  public  square.  Clustered  about  the  commercial 
center,  and  growing  further  apart  as  the  distance  increased, 
were  private  residences  which  went  to  make  up  the  hamlet. 
After  the  court  house  and  jail,  the  hotel — generally  a two- 
story  building — was  considered  the  most  important,  as  it 
was  frequently  the  most  imposing  structure  in  the  village. 
In  addition  to  the  official  and  business  edifices,  there  was 
always  a well  constructed  school  house  (there  were  no 
free  schools  in  those  days)  and  a commodious,  comfortable 
church  house  at  convenient  distances.  I purposely  use  church 
house  in  the  singular,  for  in  the  days  under  consideration, 
the  tabernacle  of  the  Most  High  was  a union  structure, 
erected  by  the  joint  contributions  of  the  various  and  diver- 
gent church  members,  as  well  as  of  philanthropic  citizens 
who  made  no  “professions,”  and  in  which  those  pioneer 
men  and  women  with  their  families,  irrespective  of  denomin- 
ation, met  together  with  good  and  honest  hearts,  and 
worshiped  God  in  spirit  and  in  truth. 

Such  in  brief,  was  the  frontier  village.  Beyond  its  con- 
fines the  country,  as  stated,  was  unfenced  and  uncontrolled. 
Luxuriant  grasses  and  fragrant  wild  flowers  covered  prairie, 
hill  and  valley  for  two-thirds  of  the  year.  Herds  of  cattle 
and  horses  grazed  in  every  direction,  and  each  ranchman, 
by  his  mark  and  brand,  was  enabled  to  identify  his  stock 
and  secure  its  increase.  Trained  to  the  range  and  keen  of 
eye  as  they  were,  the  old  time  ranchmen  and  their  cow- 
boys would  necessarily  fail  to  find  some  of  the  year’s  in- 
crease when  they  worked  this  vast  territory.  As  a result, 
there  was  a small  percentage,  yearly,  of  unmarked  and  un- 
branded calves.  These  animals,  after  being  weaned  from 
the  mothers  cows,  would  thenceforth  be  abroad  on  the 
prairies,  the  property  of  whomsoever  found  and  branded 
them,  and  in  cowboy  parlance  were  called  “mavericks.”  This 
name  had  its  origin  in  the  fact  that  Mr.  Sam  Maverick,  now 
deceased,  an  honored  and  wealthy  citizen  of  San  Antonio, 
was  the  owner  of  a large  brand  of  cattle  that  ranged 
throughout  Southwest  Texas.  During  the  Civil  War  he  was 
unable  to  “brand  up”  the  increase  in  his  stock,  and  in  con- 
sequence there  was  a marked  augmentation  of  unbranded  and 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


175 


unmarked  cattle  on  the  range  from  San  Antonio  to  the 
coast.  This  fact,  and  the  cause  of  it,  was  a matter  of  general 
knowledge  throughout  this  section.  Therefore,  when  the  old 
time  ranchman  and  his  cowboys  in  this  territory,  found  an 
unmarked  and  unbranded  yearling  or  two  year  old  on  the 
range,  it  was  assumed  that  the  animal  had  at  one  time  been 
the  property  of  the  San  Antonio  citizen.  Hence  the  term 
“maverick,”  soon  became  universal  as  a designation  for 
an  animal  whose  owner  could  not  be  definitely  determined, 
and  has  now  become  a permanent  fixture  in  our  English 
nomenclature.  The  “round  up”  with  its  chuck  wagon, 
its  high  priced  chef  and  bill  of  fare  a la  carte,  had  not  as 
yet  been  introduced.  Those  old  time  ranchmen  were  con- 
tent to  simply  cow  hunt  twice  • a year,  and  brand  their 
calves.  As  a rule  those  whose  ranches  were  the  nearest, 
hunted  together  and  thereby  made  up  an  “outfit.”  Their 
provision,  flour,  coffee  and  dried  beef,  with  the  beddin’,  was 
loaded  on  a pack  horse,  which  was  driven  with  the  saddle 
ponies.  They  worked  the  country  and  branded  through  the 
day,  and  camped  at  night  where  water  was  in  abundance 
and  where  grass  was  good. 

There  was  an  unwritten  law,  recognized  by  the  good 
women  of  the  towns  as  well  as  of  the  country,  that  when- 
ever a party  of  cowhunters  rode  up  and  asked  to  have 
bread  baked,  it  mattered  not  the  time  of  day,  the  request 
was  to  be  cheerfully  complied  with.  Not  from  fear  of 
insult  in  case  of  refusal — for  each  and  every  cowboy  was 
the  champion  defender  of  womanhood,  and  would  have 
scorned  to  have  uttered  a disrespectful  word  in  her  presence 
— but  from  an  accommodating  spirit  and  a kindness  of 
heart,  which  was  universally  characteristic  in  those  frontier 
days.  My  father  was  a lawyer,  and  therefore  my  boyhood 
home  was  in  the  village,  but  I remember  the  many  times 
that  cowhunters  rode  up  to  my  father’s  house,  and  telling 
my  mother  they  were  out  of  bread,  asked  that  she  would 
kindly  bake  their  flour  for  them.  Everything  was  at  once 
made  ready.  The  sack  was  lifted  from  the  pack  horse  and 
brought  in,  and  in  due  time  the  bread  wallets  were  once 
more  filled  with  freshly  cooked  biscuits,  and  the  cowboys 


176 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


rode  away  with  grateful  appreciation.  These  acts  of  con- 
sideration on  the  part  of  my  mother  were  entirely  gratuitous, 
but  the  generous-hearted  cowboys  would  always  leave  either  a 
half  sack  of  flour  or  a money  donation  as  a freewill 
offering. 

One  of  the  cardinal  virtues  of  the  old  time  ranchman 
was  hospitality.  This  commendable  trait  was  not  alone 
possessed  by  him,  but  was  an  attribute  of  his  entire  family. 
The  cordial  welcome  was  not  restricted  to  nearby  neighbors, 
friends  and  acquaintances,  but  was  as  freely  extended  to 
“the  stranger  within  the  gates.”  The  wayworn  traveler  was 
never  turned  aside,  and  while  a guest  at  the  ranch,  did  illness 
overtake  him,  the  watchful  vigils  and  tender  hands  of  the 
ranchman’s  wife  and  daughters  ministered  to  his  sufferings 
as  though  he  was  one  of  the  family,  until  health  was  re- 
stored, and  he  was  sent  on  his  way  rejoicing.  The  wife  of 
the  old  time  ranchman!  How  kind,  how  considerate  she 
was!  It  mattered  not  that  at  the  approach  of  every  full 
moon  the  saddle  horses  were  rounded  up  and  more  closely 
guarded,  and  the  guns  and  pistols  on  the  ranch  were  over- 
hauled and  minutely  inspected  in  anticipation  of  an  Indian 
raid — there  was  no  excitement  or  complaint  on  her  part! 
Amidst  the  dangers  and  the  deprivations  of  frontier  en- 
vironment, she  gathered  her  little  ones  closer  about  her, 
and  with  faith  in  God,  and  reliance  on  the  strong  arm  of 
husband,  neighbors  and  friends,  went  forward  uncomplain- 
ingly with  the  stern  duties  of  life.  All  honor  to  those  noble 
mothers  in  Israel! 

The  methods  of  business  were  in  keeping  with  the  primi- 
tive conditions  of  society.  There  were  no  banks  in  the 
country.  Owing  to  this  fact  every  ranch  home  was  the 
depository  of  more  or  less  money.  The  coin,  if  of  consider- 
able amount,  was  put  in  saddle  bags,  morrals,  etc.,  and  se- 
creted in  remote  corners  of  the  house  or  up  under  the 
roof,  or  buried  on  or  near  the  premises,  and  was  brought 
forth  from  its  hiding  places  as  occasion  demanded.  A some- 
what ludicrous  incident  arose  from  this  peculiar  custom. 
One  of  the  “old  timers,”  whose  ranch  was  near  the  line  of 
Karnes  and  Goliad  counties,  finding  himself  with  consider- 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


177 


able  money  on  hand,  and  having  no  immediate  use  for  it, 
decided  to  bury  it.  Choosing  an  especially  dark  night,  he 
went  down  to  his  cowpen  and  removing  one  of  the  posts  of 
the  fence  dropped  his  bag  of  gold  in  the  post  hole.  He  then 
replaced  the  post  and  returned,  satisfied  that  he  had  put 
his  treasure  where  moth  and  rust  could  not  corrupt  nor 
thieves  break  through  and  steal.  After  considerable  time 
had  elapsed,  he  found  himself  in  a position  to  use  his 
secreted  fund.  But  unfortunately  he  had  failed  to  note  the 
particular  post  under  which  he  had  buried  his  money,  and 
all  signs  of  his  former  visit  having  been  obliterated,  he  was 
compelled  to  dig  up  one  half  of  his  cowpen  before  he  secured 
the  coveted  deposit.  When  the  ranchmen  bought  stock  of 
any  kind  they  brought  the  money  in  gold  and  silver  to 
where  the  animals  were  to  be  received,  and  paid  it  out, 
dollar  for  dollar.  They  generally  carried  the  money  in 
leather  belts  buckled  around  their  waists,  but  the  silver 
being  more  bulky,  was  placed  in  duckin’  sacks,  and  was 
loaded  on  a pack  horse  or  mule.  It  was  necessary  in  those 
days  to  know  the  weight  as  well  as  the  value  of  money, 
and  therefore  it  was  a matter  of  current  knowledge  that 
one  thousand  dollars  in  silver  weighed  sixty-two  and  one- 
half  pounds.  Robbery  was  a crime  unknown  among  those 
rugged  and  honest  old  pioneers. 

Brave,  hospitable  and  generous,  the  old  time  ranchman 
believed  in  justice,  simple  justice,  stripped  of  all  technical- 
ities of  law.  According  to  his  ethics,  the  man  “who’d  for- 
sake a friend  or  go  back  on  his  word,”  was  a scoundrel,  and 
the  thief,  it  mattered  not  who  he  was,  had  forfeited  his 
right  to  live.  But  those  nice  distinctions  of  judicial  import, 
murder  in  first  or  second  degree,  manslaughter,  etc.,  did 
not  appeal  to  him.  In  the  enforcement  of  the  code,  he 
did  not  subscribe  to  the  theory  that  an  accused  could  be 
morally  innocent  and  at  the  same  time  legally  guilty  of  a 
crime.  When  a killin’  occurred,  he  asked,  ‘‘Was  ther  a 
grudge  between  ’em,  an’  wuz  it  a fair  fight?”  If  so,  he 
could  not  understand  why,  when  the  best  shot  or  the  coolest 
nerve  had  slain  his  adversary,  the  great  state  of  Texas 
should  want  to  prosecute  and  punish  the  survivor.  And  as  a 


178 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


juror  he  would  not  be  a party  to  such  prosecution  and 
punishment.  In  illustration  of  his  personal  application  and 
influence  in  the  enforcement  of  law,  I am  reminded  of 
the  following  occurrence:  One  of  the  old  time  ranchmen 
and  forceful  characters  in  Southwest  Texas,  was  a certain 
Captain  Blank.  He  had  been  at  the  head  of  a vigilance 
committee  which  had  hung  a number  of  men  under  his 
personal  supervision.  He  was  well  known  throughout  his 
section  as  a firm,  fearless  and  implacable  leader.  During 
the  progress  of  a murder  trial  in  his  home  county,  he  was 
summoned  to  attend  as  a special  venireman.  In  due  time 
he  was  called  to  the  stand,  and  on  voir  dire  the  district 
attorney  propounded  the  statutory  question,  “Have  you  any 
conscientious  scruples  in  regard  to  the  infliction  of  the 
punishment  of  death,  for  crime?”  To  the  surprise  of  the 
district  attorney,  as  well  as  of  all  those  present,  Captain 
Blank  replied,  “1  have.”  Then  noting  the  incredulous  smile 
on  the  faces  of  the  audience,  he  turned  to  the  court  and 
said,  “Jedge,  its  this  a-way.  1 don’t  want  to  hang  a man 
unless  I’ve  got  somethin’  agin  ’im.” 

The  old  time  ranchman  never  turned  a deaf  ear  to  a worthy 
appeal.  His  generosity  and  his  warm-heartedness  knew  no 
bounds.  On  the  other  hand,  he  would  not  tamely  submit 
to  what  he  considered  an  unjust  imposition.  With  a Hampden 
spirit,  it  was  not  the  amount  but  the  principle,  for  which 
he  was  ever  ready  to  fight,  if  need  be  to  the  death.  The 
following  will  perhaps  serve  to  illustrate  this  phase  of  his 
character:  One  of  the  cowboys  on  a Southwest  Texas  ranch, 
in  the  olden  time  when  gas  was  the  principal  municipal 
illuminant,  decided  to  go  up  to  San  Antonio  for  a few  days, 
and  see  the  sights,  and  incidentally  “pike”  a little  at  the 
Bull’s  Head  or  the  White  Elephant  gambling  tables.  In  due 
time  he  returned  to  the  ranch.  The  boys  gathered  around  him 
to  learn  what  had  been  his  experiences  in  the  big  town. 
After  recounting  at  some  length  the  incidents  of  his  sojourn, 
he  casually  remarked,  “Fellers,  I come  damn  near  havin’ 
to  kill  a hotel  keeper.”  “Why,  how  was  that,  Bill?”  querried 
his  auditors.  “Well,  it  wuz  this  a-way,”  explained  Bill.  “The 
fust  night  1 wuz  thar,  when  I got  ready  to  go  to  bed,  a 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


179 


nigger  showed  me  up  to  my  room  an’  lit  the  light.  On  lookin’ 
around,  I saw  a great  big  sign  tacked  to  the  wall,  sayin’, 
‘Don’t  Blow  Out  the  Gas.’  Of  course  then  I didn’t  blow 
it  out,  bein’s  as  they  said  not  to.  I jest  let  the  light  burn, 
an’  by  pulling  my  hat  over  my  face  managed  to  sleep 
tolerable  well.  The  next  mornin’  when  I went  to  settle  my 
bill,  that  low  down  hotel  keeper  tried  to  charge  me  two 
dollars  extra,  because  I didn’t  blow  out  the  gas.  He  shore 
did.  An’  I jest  looked  that  hotel  keeper  in  the  eye,  an’  I 
told  him  that  I’d  fight  him  till  hell  froze  over,  an’  then 
skate  with  him  on  the  ice,  before  I’d  pay  one  cent  of  that 
two  dollars.  And  I meant  jest  what  I said.”  The  boys  all 
unanimously  agreed  that  if  Bill  had  killed  that  hotel  keeper, 
under  the  circumstances,  it  would  have  been  a clear  case  of 
justifiable  homicide.  Such  were  some  of  the  conditions, 
characteristics  and  peculiarities  of  a society  now  long  since 
passed  away. 

To  conclude:  In  .1880,  a combination  of  circumstances 
gave  me  the  long  coveted  opportunity  to  go  up  the  Trail. 
1 was  one  of  Mr.  Cal.  Mayfield’s  “outfit”  with  a herd  of 
one  thousand  head  of  ML  horses.  Our  party  with  but  one 
exception,  was  composed  of  Karnes  county  boys.  We  left 
the  Hill  pasture  in  Live  Oak  county  for  the  long  and  arduous 
drive  to  Dodge,  Kansas.  After  a halt  of  three  days  in  the 
vicinity  of  Fort  Worth,  where  the  chuck  wagon  was  replen- 
ished with  food  sufficient  to  sustain  us  to  our  destination,  we 
virtually  bade  adieu  to  civilizaton,  and  moved  into  the  wild 
section  of  Northeast  Texas,  and  on,  on,  through  the  Indian 
Territory,  (crossing  Red  River  at  Doan’s  Crossing)  until 
at  last  after  many  hardships  and  exciting  experiences,  we 
again  enjoyed  the  comforts  of  “God’s  land,”  in  the  frontier 
town  of  Caldwell,  Kansas.  The  year  above  mentioned  was 
one  of  the  worst  ever  known  on  the  Trail.  Storms,  rain  and 
lightning.  We  had  our  first  stampede  in  the  Blue  Mounds 
country,  north  of  Fort  Worth,  and  from  there  on  it  was 
a run  night  after  night,  with  but  short  intermissions.  When 
we  had  crossed  the  Cimarron  River,  out  of  the  Indian  Terri- 
tory, and  came  to  where  the  Dodge  and  the  Caldwell  trails 
forked,  Mr.  Mayfield  decided  to  follow  the  latter  trail,  as 


180 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


Caldwell  was  somewhat  nearer.  After  resting  at  Caldwell 
a few  days,  the  herd  was  “split  up”  and  I was  assigned  to  go 
with  a bunch  which  was  loaded  on  the  cars  and  shipped  to 
Kansas  City.  From  there,  back  to  Texas — and  home. 

In  closing  this  article,  I crave  the  reader’s  pardon  for 
what  may  be  an  unwarranted  intrusion  of  personal  feeling. 
But  the  old  time  ranchman,  his  bravery,  his  rugged  honesty 
and  his  nobility  of  character,  is  a theme  which  is  near  and 
dear  to  me.  The  purest,  sweetest  draughts  of  happiness 
that,  I have  quaffed  in  this  life,  were  drawn  in  those  good 
old  days,  when  as  a boy  and  as  a young  man,  I dwelt  in  the 
little  village  of  Helena,  the  then  county  seat  of  Karnes 
county,  in  Southwest  Texas,  in  the  midst  of  a noble  pioneer 
people,  among  whom  were  many  of  the  men  who  made  the 
Trail.  Time’s  cruel  hand  has  wrought  many  changes.  The 
silken  ties  of  early  association  have  been  severed  for  years, 
but  the  treasured  memories  of  that  golden  time  have  kept 
green  in  my  hearty  throughout  every  change  and  vicissitude 
of  fortune.  These  hallowed  recollections  have  walked  with 
me  thus  far,  and  will  continue  so  to  do  to  the  end  of  the 
chapter.  Then: 

“Let  Fate  do  her  worst,  there  ar£  relics  of  joy, 

Bright  dreams  of  the  past,  which  she  cannot  destroy; 
Which  come  in  the  night  time  of  sorrow  and  care, 

And  bring  back  the  features  that  joy  used  to  wear. 
Long,  long  be  my  heart  with  such  memories  filled, 
Like  the  vase  in  which  roses  have  once  been  distilled — 
You  may  break,  you  may  shatter  the  vase  if  you  will, 
But  the  scent  of  the  roses  will  cling  ’round  it  still.” 


A FEW  THRILLING  INCIDENTS  IN  MY  EXPERIENCE 
ON  THE  TRAIL. 

By  L.  B.  Anderson,  of  Seguin,  Texas. 

One  trip  I drove  for  Dewees,  Ervin  & Jim  Ellison.  1 got 
the  herd  at  Rockport,  in  Coleman  & Fulton’s  pasture,  and 
drove  to  the  Millett  & Irvin  ranch  in  the  Panhandle,  camp- 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


181 


HENRY  STEELE 


L.  A.  (AUS)  FRANKS 


J.  W.  JACKSON 


LOUIS  SCHORP 


182 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


ing  right  where  the  town  of  Seymour  is  now  located,  and 
remained  there  several  months  helping  to  round  up  several 
thousand  head  of  cattle.  Among  those  who  were  with  me 
there  on  the  range  were  Tom  Peeler,  Billie  Bland,  Sam  and 
John  Wilson,  Billie  Gray,  Charlie  Reed  and  Whit  Vick.  We 
started  from  that  point  with  three  thousand  yearlings  for 
Major  Wolcott’s  ranch  in  the  Rocky  Mountains.  Had  good 
luck  all  the  way  until  we  reached  Fort  McPherson  on  the 
North  Platte  River,  where  our  horses  stampeded  and  ran 
right  through  our  herd  causing  the  yearlings  to  stampede 
also,  going  in  every  direction,  several  hundred  running  into 
the  river.  We  finally  rounded  all  of  them  up  and  delivered 
the  herd  in  fine  shape. 

I took  one  herd  of  cattle  up  into  Colorado  for  John  and 
Tom  Dewees  to  a man  named  Cheatem.  We  killed  many 
buffalo  on  this  trip,  but  in  Kansas  in  1871,  on  the  Ninne- 
squaw  River,  1 saw  more  buffalo  than  I ever  saw  anywhere 
else.  As  far  as  the  eye  could  see  over  the  plains  was  a solid 
mass  of  moving  buffalo,  all  drifting  northward.  I remember 
my  first  experience  in  trying  to  kill  one  of  these  animals.  I 
did  not  know  the  huge  hump  on  their  back  was  a row  of 
ribs,  and  that  I could  not  kill  one  unless  I shot  below  that 
hump,  but  I learned  that  much  while  trying  to  shoot  my 
first  buffalo.  I had  an  old  cap  and  ball  pistol  and  taking- 
careful  aim  at  a bull’s  hump  I began  to  shoot,  but  the 
only  effect  my  shots  had  was  to  make  him  run  faster.  I kept 
up  with  him,  firing  as  we  ran,  sometimes  all  six  loads  would 
go  off  at  the  same  time,  and  I would  reload,  going  at  full 
speed.  I ran  him  several  miles  before  I finally  killed  him. 

Besides  buffalo,  deer  and  antelope  we  used  to  kill  ducks, 
geese,  prairie  chickens  and  other  wild  fowls  which  were 
plentiful  in  the  uncivilized  part  of  the  state.  I always  enjoyed 
hunting  and  I guess  I killed  as  many  deer  as  the  average 
man.  Speaking  of  deer,  reminds  me  of  a peculiar  thing 
that  happened  in  Atascosa  county  one  day.  The  outfits  of 
Dudley  Tom  and  myself  were  gathering  cattle  on  Dewees’ 
ranch,  when  one  morning  a negro  and  myself  were  rounding 
up  a bunch  of  cattle,  when  several  deer  jumped  out  of  a 
thicket  directly  in  front  of  us.  Of  course  we  gave  chase 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


183 


and  ran  them  so  close  one  of  the  bucks  ran  against  a tree 
and  broke  his  neck. 

At  another  time  when  we  were  camped  near  John  Tom’s 
ranch  in  Atascosa  county  we  were  driving  a herd  of  old 
Mexican  beeves  down  a long  lane,  and  they  stampeded, 
turned  around  and  started  back  up  the  lane.  A man  and 
woman  had  just  passed  us,  riding  horseback.  When  they 
heard  the  noise  of  the  stampede  and  saw  the  herd  coming  they 
began  to  ride  for  dear  life  to  get  out  of  the  way  of  the 
frightened  cattle.  The  woman  was  riding  sideways,  as  was 
the  custom  in  those  days,  and  it  seemed  to  us  that  the 
cattle  were  surely  going  to  overtake  her.  Looking  back  and 
seeing  the  cattle  gaining  that  woman  suddenly  swung  her- 
self astride  of  the  horse  she  was  riding,  and  pulled  off  a 
race  that  beat  anything  I ever  saw.  She  out-distanced  every- 
thing in  that  herd  and  rode  safely  away. 

Stampedes  were  very  common  occurences,  sometimes  they 
were  just  tame  affairs,  but  at  other  times  they  afforded  all  the 
excitement  anyone  could  want.  It  was  hard  to  tell  sometimes 
the  cause  of  a stampede.  Often  during  a clear  still  night 
when  the  cattle  were  contentedly  bedded  and  the  night  riders 
were  dozing  in  their  saddles,  a sudden  run  would  take  place 
and  the  remainder  of  the  night  would  be  spent  in  trying 
to  keep  the  herd  together.  One  of  the  worst  stampedes  I 
ever  witnessed  was  at  Kilgore’s  ranch  near  Hondo.  Tom  Lay 
was  having  some  fun  with  a negro  boy  and  the  cattle  be- 
came frightened  at  the  noise  the  boys  made  and  the  stampede 
that  followed  cost  us  several  days’  hard  work  and  some 
money  to  get  them  together  again. 

Another  bad  stampede  in  which  I had  to  do  some  tall 
riding  occurred  while  I was  taking  a big  herd  of  the  Millett 
beeves  to  Paul’s  Valley.  When  we  reached  the  Devil’s  Back- 
bone, between  Cash  Creek  and  Washita  River,  we  found 
the  country  had  been  burned  off  except  a small  scope  of 
ground  between  the  creeks  where  fire  could  not  get  to  the 
grass,  and  on  that  ground  I camped  at  the  edge  of  a 
strip  of  timber.  I think  every  prairie  chicken  in  that  whole 
country  came  there  to  roost.  They  were  there  by  the 
thousands.  The  next  morning  when  these  chickens  began 


184 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


to  leave  the  noise  they  made  frightened  the  cattle  and 
caused  them  to  stampede.  The  three  thousand  beeves  ran  over 
that  rough  country  in  every  direction,  and  they  went  several 
miles  before  we  were  able  to  check  them.  Several  were  killed 
and  about  a hundred  got  away. 

During  the  eighteen  years  that  I followed  the  trail  life 
I was  never  arrested  for  any  infraction  of  the  law,  but  on 
two  occasions  I came  very  near  being  arrested,  the  first 
time  just  before  we  crossed  a herd  at  Red  River  Station.  I 
had  started  a herd  of  the  Millett  cattle  to  the  Indian  Territory 
to  turn  them  into  the  corn  fields  to  fatten.  Mr.  Millett  said 
he  thought  I could  make  it  for  a day  or  two  without  in- 
spection papers,  saying  he  would  overtake  me  in  a few 
days  and  bring  the  papers  with  him.  I got  as  far  as  Red 
River  Station  without  interference,  and  while  we  were  stopped 
there  for  dinner  a cattle  inspector  rode  up  and  demanded 
my  papers.  When  I told  him  Mr.  Millett  would  come  with 
them  in  a few  days  he  said  nothing  but  turned  and  rode 
away  towards  the  county  seat.  I knew  he  was  going  to  get 
the  officers  and  arrest  me,  so  we  hastily  rounded  up  our 
cattle  and  rushed  them  across  the  river.  Just  as  I succeeded 
in  getting  the  last  hoof  across  the  inspector  came  with  the 
officers,  but  he  was  too  late  for  I was  out  of  their  reach. 

Mr.  Millett  arrived  in  a few  days,  and  everything  was  all 

right. 

The  next  encounter  I had  with  an  officer  of  the  law  was 
near  Fort  Worth.  My  outfit  had  encamped  near  a settlement. 
The  boys,  in  a spirit  of  fun,  caught  two  or  three  hogs  that 
were  foraging  about  the  camp,  and  the  squeals  of  the  swine 
led  the  settlers  to  believe  that  we  were  stealing  the  hogs. 
Early  the  next  morning  just  after  we  had  strung  the  herd 
out  on  the  trail,  and  the  cook  was  getting  the  chuck  wagon 
in  shape  to  start,  the  officer  rode  up,  threw  a villainous 

looking  gun  down  on  me  and  told  me  I was  under  arrest, 

accused  of  stealing  hogs.  He  said  he  would  have  to  search 
the  wagon,  and  I told  him  to  proceed,  and  gave  orders  for. 
the  cook  to  unload  the  chuck  wagon.  When  the  officer  was 
satisfied  we  had  no  hog  in  the  wagon,  he  told  us  we  were 
free  to  continue  on  our  trip.  Then  I sent  him  off  on  a “wild 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


185 


ooose  chase,”  by  telling  him  that  there  was  another  herd 
several  miles  ahead  of  us,  and  the  cowboys  of  that  outfit 
were  the  fellows  who  had  stolen  the  hogs. 

My  experiences  with  the  Indians  were  like  my  other  ex- 
periences, some  laughable,  and  others  serious.  The  friendly 
Indians  would  sometimes  follow  us  for  days  and  torment  us 
with  their  begging.  Old  Yellow  Bear,  a chief  came  to  our 
camp  one  day  at  noon  and  wanted  bread.  I told  the  cook 
not  to  give  him  anything,  and  this  made  the  old  chief  so 
mad  he  stamped  his  foot  right  down  in  the  dough  the  cook 
was  working  up  to  make  bread  for  our  dinner. 

The  Indians  at  the  Red  Cloud  agency  in  Dakota  did  not 
bury  their  dead  under  the  ground,  but  would  erect  a scaffold 
some  eight  or  ten  feet  high,  place  the  body  thereon  and 
cover  it  with  a red  blanket,  besides  placing  a bow  and  quivver 
of  arrows,  with  a pot  of  food  on  the  scaffold  for  the  de- 
ceased Indian  to  use  on  his  journey  to  the  “happy  hunting 
grounds.”  Every  animal  the  dead  Indian  owned  was  brought 
to  the  scaffold  and  killed.  I have  seen  as  many  as  twelve 
dead  horses  at  one  scaffold  and  several  dead  dogs. 

One  of  the  most  perilous  things  encountered  on  the  trail 
in  those  days  was  the  electrical  storm.  Herds  would  always 
drift  before  a storm  and  we  would  have  to  follow  them  for 
miles,  while  vivid  lightning  and  crashing  peals  of  thunder 
made  our  work  awesome  and  dangerous.  Only  one  who  has 
been  in  a Kansas  storm  can  realize  what  it  means.  Sometimes 
several  head  of  cattle  or  horses  were  killed  by  one  stroke 
of  the  lightning,  and  many  of  the  cowboys  met  their  death 
in  the  same  manner. 


ESTABLISHED  THE  FIRST  PACKING  PLANT  IN  TEXAS. 

Sketch  of  W.  S.  Hall,  of  Comfort,  Texas, 

Mr.  W.  S.  Hall  was  born  in  Athens,  Maine,  December  17, 
1829,  and  came  to  Texas  by  boat  in  1858,  landing  at 
Indianola.  He  proceeded  by  stage  to  San  Antonio  to  seek  his 
fortune  in  the  cattle  business.  That  same  spring  he  purchased 
a stock  of  cattle  from  Saul  Childers  and  also  made  a deal 


186  THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 

for  the  Hornsby  stock  which  had  branded  a thousand  calves 
the  year  previous,  and  also  secured  several  smaller  herds. 
Thus  he  entered  the  stock  business  on  an  extensive  scale 
and  became  one  of  the  most  prominent  cattlemen  of  his 
time.  At  one  time  he  owned  forty  thousand  cattle  which 
ranged  over  a vast  scope  of  country. 

With  characteristic  foresight  and  wonderful  business  acumen 
Mr.  Hall  saw  the  opening  for  a new  industry  in  the  South, 
and  accordingly  established  a packing  plant  at  Rockport, 
Texas,  and  for  eight  years  successfully  operated  the  plant. 
In  those  days  artificial  ice  and  modern  preservatives  were 
unknown,  but  with  the  aid  of  salt  he  prepared  his  products 
in  such  a manner  as  to  preserve  and  ship  to  New  Orleans 
and  New  York  and  even  to  European  ports.  During  the 
time  he  was  engaged  in  the  packing  industry  he  slaughtered 
more  than  forty  thousand  cattle,  one  year  alone  slaughtering 
over  eleven  thousand  head  and  marketing  more  than  one 
thousand  barrels  of  meat  in  New  Orleans.  The  tallow  was 
shipped  to  various  countries,  a thousand  hogsheads  going  to 
New  York.  The  net  weight  of  each  of  these  hogsheads  was 
eleven  hundred  pounds,  the  product  brought  eight  and  one- 
half  cents  per  pound,  which  netted  the  packer  a good  profit. . 
Mr.  Hall  had  no  difficulty  in  securing  animals  for  his  packing 
plant,  paying  from  $7.00  to  $12.50  per  head  for  the  beeves,, 
$5.00  to  $9.00  for  cows,  and  $3.00  to  $4.00  for  yearlings.' 
Quite  a difference  in  the  price  of  prime  stuff  is  to  be  seen 
by  comparison  with  present  day  market  values. 

The  only  trip  Mr.  Hall  ever  made  up  the  trail  was  in 
1872,  when  he  started  4200  head  of  cattle  from  Atascosa: 
county,  and  drove  to  Wichita,  Kansas,  where  he  sold  them.  , 

While  engaged  in  the  packing  business  his  brother  was; 
interested  in  the  industry  with  him,  but  the  brother  died  in: 
the  early  sixties  and  Mr.  Hall  conducted  the  business  alone. 
In  1865  he  had  seven  thousand  head  of  cattle  stolen  from 
him  by  Mexicans,  and  he  followed  them  into  Mexico,  where 
he  found  some  of  them,  but  the  cost  of  bringing  the  cattle 
back  to  Texas  was  so  great  he  did  not  bring  them.  The 
Mexican  government  requiied  certain  conditions  and  erms 
and  it  would  have  cost  more  than  the  cattle  were  worth  to 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


187 


oet  them  out  of  Mexico.  The  United  States  government  sent 
the  Robb  Commission  to  adjust  claims  in  1872  for  cattle 
stolen  by  Mexicans  and  when  all  differences  had  been  settled 
between  the  two  countries  the  indemnity  claims  were  pigeon- 
holed in  Washington,  D.  C.,  and  are  probably  there  yet. 

Mr.  Hall  has  two  sons  engaged  in  the  cattle  business, 
W.  S.  Hall  Jr.,  and  James  Beck  Hall. 

This  venerable  character,  now  in  his  ninety-first  year,  is 
quite  feeble,  the  services  of  a nurse  being  constantly  re- 
quired to  minister  to  his  infirmities.  With  his  wife  he  lives 
at  Comfort,  Kendall  county,  Texas,  where  he  is  spending  his 
declining  years,  surrounded  by  all  the  comforts  that  loving 
hands  can  bestow. 

Thus,  in  brief,  we  have  the  history  of  one  of  Texas’  most 
useful  citizens.  He  contributed  to  the  making  of  the  history 
of  the  state,  and  with  the  names  of  many  others  his 
achievements  will  be  emblazoned  on  the  scroll  of  Texas’ 
glory  and  renown. 


MEMORIES  OF  THE  OLD  COW  TRAIL. 

By  C.  H.  Rust  of  San  Angelo,  Texas. 

As  one  of  the  old  cowpunchers  that  enjoyed  the  life  on 
the  Chisholm  cow  trail  that  led  from  Texas  to  Kansas  be- 
tween 1867  and  1885,  the  object,  as  you  will  readily  see,  is 
to  keep  alive  the  memories  of  those  early  pioneer  days.  My 
own  interest  in  these  matters  is  no  more  than  that  of 
any  other  old  time  cowboy  who  enjoyed  the  life  of  those 
days,  but  I would  like  to  see  in  my  own  day  and  time  some 
record  left  to  perpetuate  the  memories  of  the  life  of  the  old 
cowboy  on  the  trails  and  the  men  that  followed  them. 

What  happened  on  these  old  trails,  between  1867  and 
1885,  is  history,  but  at  this  present  time  there  is  no  mile 
post  or  stone  to  mark  their  location. 

I wish  to  call  your  attention  to  the  information  I can  give 
of  those  days,  the  conditions  that  led  up  to  them,  the  effect 
they  had  on  the  men  who  experienced  them  and  on  the 
development  of  the  great  Southwest. 


188 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


In  fact,  it  is  not  too  much  to  say  the  reclamation  of  the 
Southwest  created  a class  of  men  that  have  made  and  will 
make  a deep  and  permanent  impression  on  our  government. 
The  conditions  under  which  they  lived  prevented  their  being 
bound  by  conventionalities  of  an  established  community. 
They  were  creators  of  a new  society.  For  nearly  a hundred 
years,  some  in  Texas,  men  have  been  solving  problems  that 
required  courage,  self  reliance,  willingness  to  assume  re- 
sponsibility and  the  peculiar  quality  called  longheadedness, 
which  is  the  ability  to  foresee  the  effect  of  untried  experiment. 
The  proof  is  shown  in  the  influence,  out  of  all  proportion  to 
their  number,  that  Texas  representatives  or  delegates  exercise 
in  legislative  or  deliberative  bodies  outside  their  own  state. 
The  causes  that  produced  this  power  should  be  preserved 
for  the  study  and  instruction  of  those  who  come  after  us 
and  who  will  have  to  carry  on  our  work.  The  preservation 
is  surely  worth  while,  and  for  that  reason  I am  willing  to 
give  my  own  experience,  much  as  1 dislike  recalling  part  of  it. 

1 was  born  in  the  old  red  hills  of  Georgia  in  1850.  My 
father  and  mother  emigrated  to  Texas  in  1854.  In  1863  my 
father  pushed  far  out,  almost  to  the  danger  line,  to  where  the 
Caddo  Peaks  and  Santa  Anna  mountains  stand  as  silent 
sentinels  over-looking  the  valley  of  the  Colorado  River  and 
the  great  Concho  country  to  the  west,  far  out  where  count- ' 
less  thousands  of  buffalo  roamed  at  will,  where  deer,  antelope 
and  wild  turkey  seemed  to  have  taken  possession  of  the 
whole  country.  This  wonderful  panorama  loomed  up  to  me, 
as  a boy,  as  the  idle  and  happy  hunting  ground  that  I had 
long  dreamed  of,  with  the  silvery  watered  streams,  like  narrow : 
ribbons,  winding  their  way  toward  the  Gulf  of  Mexico. 

I am  so  tempted  that  I cannot  refrain  from  quoting  from 
Chapter  1,  “The  Quirt  and  the  Spur,”  by  Edgar  Rye,  it  fits 
so  well  in  the  time  and  condition:  “Far  out  beyond  the  con- 
fines of  civilization;  far  out  where  daring  men  took  possession 
of  the  hunting  ground  of  the  Indians  and  killed  herds  of 
buffalo  to  make  a small  profit  in  pelts,  leaving  the  carcass 
to  putrify  and  the  bones  to  bleach  on  the  prairies.  Far  out 
where  cattlemen  disputed  over  the  possession  of  mavericks 
and  the  branding  iron  was  the  only  evidence  of  ownership. 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


189 


Far  out  where  a cool  head  backed  the  deadly  six  shooter 

and  the  man  behind  the  gun,  with  a steady  aim  and  a 

quick  trigger,  won  out  in  the  game  where  life  was  staked 

upon  the  issue.  Far  out  where  the  distant  landscape  melted 
into  the  blue  horizon  and  a beautiful  mirage  was  painted  on 
the  skyline.  Far  out  where  the  weary,  thirsty  traveler  camped 
over  night  near  a deep  water  hole,  while  nearby  in  the 
green  valley  a herd  of  wild  horses  grazed  unrestrained  by 
man’s  authority.  Far  out  where  the  coyote  wolves  yelped 
in  unison  as  they  chased  a jack-rabbit  in  a circle  of  death, 
then  fought  over  his  remains  in  a bloody  feast.  Far  out 
where  the  gray  lobo  wolf  and  the  mountain  lion  stalked 
their  prey,  killed  and  gorged  their  fill  until  the  light  in  the 
east  warned  them  to  seek  cover  in  their  mountain  lairs. 
Far  out  where  bands  of  red  warriors  raided  the  lonely 

ranch  house,  killing,  burning  and  pillaging,  leaving  a trail 
of  blood  and  ashes  behind  them  as  a sad  warning  to  the 
white  man  to  beware  of  the  Indian’s  revenge.  Far  out  into 
this  wonderful  country  of  great  possibilities,  where  the  sun 
looked  down  upon  a scene  of  rare  beauty.” 

The  sad  thought  to  this  writer  is  the  passing  out  of 
those  scenes  so  well  portrayed  in  the  above  by  its  author; 
the  old  free  grass,  saddle  warmer  and  line  rider  and 
range,  through  mystic  regions,  it  is  strange. 

I turn  my  face  west.  I see  the  red  lines  of  the  setting 
sun,  but  I do  not  hear  the  echo  come  back,  “Go  west 
young  man,  go  west.”  I turn  my  face  east  and  1 hear 
the  dull  thud  of  the  commercialized  world  marching  west, 
with  its  steam  roller  procession,  to  roll  over  me  and  flatten 
me  out. 

1 ring  my  Ford  car’s  neck,  and  go  off  down  the  street. 

I drifted  down  into  San  Antonio,  Texas,  in  the  winter 
of  1869.  I was  about  nineteen  years  old,  long,  lank  and 
lean;  my  height  was  full  six  feet.  My  weight  was  about 
one  hundred  and  forty.  I had  no  business  in  San  Antonio. 
I just  went  there.  I found  board  and  room  with  a Mrs. 
Hall  on  Alamo  Street. 

This  being  the  largest  town  I ever  was  in  I was  some- 
what “buffaloed,”  but  Mrs.  Hall  and  her  husband  were 


190 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


old  Texas  folks.  Mrs.  Hall  was  good  to  me,  tried  to 
advise  me,  but  I knew  it  all.  About  all  1 did  during  my 
stay  in  San  Antonio  was  loaf  around  such  places  as  the 
Old  Bullhead  Saloon  that  faced  south  on  Main  Plaza, 
piked  at  monte  some,  saw  big  old  grizzly  gamblers  get  rich, 
and  poor,  in  a few  hours. 

When  the  spring  of  1870  opened  up  I found  work  with 
Myers  and  Roberts.  They  had  just  recently  bought  out  the 
old  NOX  Ranch,  seventy  miles  west  of  San  Antonio  on 
the  Frio  River,  thirty-five  miles  north  of  Uvalde.  I be- 
lieve it  was  about  the  first  of  April  when  Myers  and 
Roberts  sold  fifteen  hundred  head  of  mixed  cattle  to 
Ewing  and  Ingrams  of  California.  We  began  to  put  the 
cattle  up  at  once.  About  the  middle  of  May  we  delivered 
the  fifteen  hundred  head  near  San  Antonio,  five  miles 
west  of  the  Alamo. 

Ewing  and  Ingrams  made  me  an  offer  to  lead  the 
herd  up  the  trail  to  Kansas.  This  offer  I accepted.  We 
held  the  cattle  up  a few  days  to  organize,  as  the  outfit 
was  all  new  hands — green.  Some  of  them  had  never 
seen  a horse  or  a cow,  much  less  rode  one.  Will  say  here, 
1 had  been  over  the  trail  as  far  north  as  Fort  Worth. 
My  duty  was  to  look  out  for  good  places  to  camp,  bed 
grounds  and  crossing  of  streams.  We  made  only  one  drive  a 
day,  eight  to  ten  miles.  We  followed  the  old  cow  trail 
from  San  Antonio  to  San  Marcos,  Austin,  Round  Rock, 
Georgetown,  Salado,  Belton,  Clebourne,  Fort  Worth,  Boliver, 
crossing  the  Red  River  near  Gainesville,  through  Nation  to 
Oil  Springs,  Fort  Arbuckle  to  Wild  Horse  and  Washita. 

Here  we  met  forty  Comanche  Indians.  Every  one  of 
the  red  skins  had  a parasol.  I asked  them  where  they  had 
been.  One  spoke  up,  in  fairly  good  English,  and  said  they 
had  been  in  on  the  Arkansas  River  making  a treaty  with 
another  tribe. 

We  went  through  the  Osage  Nation,  striking  the  line 
of  Kansas  at  Caldwell  Bluff  Creek.  At  Ninisquaw  we 
turned  to  the  left  up  the  Ninisquaw  to  the  Sand  Hill,  crossing 
the  Arkansas  River  at  Rayman,  Kansas,  to  Great  Bend. 
Out  ten  miles  north,  on  Walnut  Creek,  we  held  the  cattle 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


191 


up,  cut  out  all  the  steers  to  fatten,  leaving  about  eight 
hundred  cows — one,  two  and  three  year  olds.  They  were 
taken  on  to  Nebraska  and  put  on  a ranch. 

Here  I left  the  outfit.  Traveled  down  the  Arkansas  River 
about  ninety  miles  to  Wichita,  Kansas,  all  alone.  Wichita 
was  then  about  a mile  long,  one  hundred  yards  wide  and  an 
inch  thick.  Here  is  where  the  Long  and  Short  Horns  met 
and  fought  it  out  right.  I remained  here  about  ten  days, 
struck  an  outfit  bound  for  Texas  with  a bunch  of  old  trail 
horses  and  chuck  wagon.  We  travelled  slowly  back  down  the 
trail,  easy  gait,  telling  each  other  our  experiences  on  the 
trail  going  up. 

My  last  trail  and  range  work  was  in  1877,  around  old 
Fort  Griffin. 

I have  been  a citizen  of  San  Angelo,  Texas,  for  over 
thirty  years.  It  is  not  what  I might  have  been,  it  is  what 

I stand  for  today.  I believe  I have  made  good.  I was  all 

wrong  at  one  time  in  my  life.  I am  all  for  the  right  now. 
My  business  is  dealing  in  fuel.  1 have  been  right  here  in 
one  place  for  twenty  years,  handling  coal  and  wood,  and 
belong  to  the  old  M.  E.  Church  South  and  1 am  proud 
of  her  record  as  a church.  I am  thankful  for  my  own 

record  that  I have  lived  to  get  right  and  do  something. 
I know  there  are  hundreds  of  the  old  early  day  trail 

hitters  doing  well  and  living  good  clean  lives. 

It  might  be  that  the  old  trail  driver  has  something 
buttoned  up  in  his  vest  that  he  won’t  tell.  Well,  he  is 
not  supposed  to  tell  all  he  knows,  but  will  tell  all  he 
can.  I was  a grown  up  man  before  I ever  saw  a Sunday 
School,  but  I owe  much  to  my  mother  for  the  lesson 
she  taught  me  at  her  knee.  I departed  from  her  advice 
in  early  manhood,  but  I came  back.  She  and  my  father  are 
buried  side  by  side  here  in  Fairmount  Cemetery,  in  the 
great  Concho  Valley,  having  lived  to  a good  ripe  old 
age,  over  eighty  years. 

The  boys’  that  have  passed  over  the  Divide,  I do 
not  where  they  are,  but  1 hope  they  got  right. 


192 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


TRAIL  DRIVING  TO  KANSAS  AND  ELSEWHERE. 

By  W.  F.  Cude,  of  San  Antonio,  Texas. 

There  has  always  been  history  from  the  beginning  of 
the  world.  It  is  the  duty  of  the  cattle  drivers  to  do  their 
bit  in  giving  to  the  people  of  the  great  state  of  Texas 
some  important  facts  that  happened  more  than  two  score 
and  ten  years  ago. 

In  the  year  1861  war  broke  out  between  the  States 
and  it  lasted  four  years,  and  during  all  this  time  there  was 
no  market,  so  the  country  was  beginning  to  be  overrun 
with  cattle  so  much  that  thousands  died.  Some  people 
went  out  with  a wagon  and  an  ax  and  killed  and  skinned 
them  for  their  hides  which  sold  for  one  dollar  apiece, 
though  there  was  not  much  killing  of  animals  for  the  hides 
except  where  the  animal  was  down  on  the  lift  or  in  a 
bog  hole.  This  was  in  1869  and  1870. 

Up  until  1872  there  was  not  over  150  miles  of  railroad 
in  the  state,  that  was  from  Galveston  to  Houston,  and  a 
short  line  from  Houston  to  Brazoria,  twenty-five  miles  in 
length,  and  one  road  from  Harrisburg  to  Aleton,  three 
miles  east  of  Columbus. 

So  the  cattle  driving  to  Kansas  was  the  only  hope  at 
that  time,  and  it  proved  to  be  a great  help  before  the  rail- 
roads got  around.  Trail  driving  to  Kansas  lasted  from  1866 
to  1886  and  it  was  estimated  that  fully  eight  million  head 
of  cattle  and  horses  were  driven  and  sold  during  the  twenty 
years  above  mentioned  to  Kansas,  the  drivers  paying  for  the 
cattle  on  an  average  of  $10.00  per  head,  although  most  of 
the  horses  came  back  to  Texas  and  were  used  the  next 
year.  There  were  all  sizes  of  herds  from  five  hundred  to 
twenty-five  hundred  cattle  in  a drove,  usually  seven  or 
eight  men  to  the  small  herds  and  twelve  to  fifteen  men 
with  the  large  herds. 

My  first  trip  to  Kansas  was  in  the  year  1868.  I went 
with  men  by  the  name  of  Fore  Han  and  C.  Cockrell.  The 
cattle  were  steers,  six  hundred  in  number,  and  were  gathered 
near  Cistern  Postoffice,  in  Bastrop  county.  There  were 
eight  hands  besides  the  owners  and  the  cook.  After  we 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


193 


ALEX  WEBB  J.  J.  WELLS 

South  Dakota  Bartlett,  Texas. 


Actual  Photo  Taken  on  the  Trail 


194 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


passed  Dallas  lightning  struck  the  boys  in  camp  killing- 
one  and  three  others  were  so  badly  burned  that  one  of 

them  quit,  so  we  only  had  six  all  the  way  to  Kansas. 
We  were  told  by  the  citizens  of  Dallas  that  we  would 

reach  the  Chisholm  trail  a few  miles  north  of  Dallas  and 
we  followed  it  through  Fort  Worth,  a small  town,  then 
through  the  Chickasaw  Nation  on  to  Wichita,  Kansas,  and 
thence  to  Solomon  City  on  the  Kansas  Pacific  Railroad, 
nine  miles  west  of  Abilene. 

There  were  but  few  settlements  on  the  way  after  we 

passed  Dallas  and  when  we  reached  the  settlements  in 

Kansas  we  were  all  joyful  again.  We  passed  through 
many  prairie  dog  towns  and  over  rattlesnake  dens,  and 
lost  only  one  horse  from  rattlesnake  bite.  Many  kinds  of 
wild  animals  were  to  seen  along  the  way,  such  as  antelope, 
elk  and  buffalo  and  we  killed  one  buffalo  calf  and  brought 
it  into  camp,  though  1 did  not  like  the  meat  as  well  as 
that  of  our  cattle. 

The  country  was  one  vast  stretch  of  rich  land,  no  timber 
except  on  creeks  or  rivers  and  when  we  came  in  sight  of  , 
timber  we  knew  there  would  be  water.  In  some  instances 
we  had  to  haul  our  wood  to  cook  with,  but  generally  we  , 
would  have  to  gather  buffalo  chips  (dry  dung)  for  that 
purpose. 

In  the  fall  of  1869  I drove  a herd  of  cattle  to  Shreve- 
port, Louisiana.  We  made  some  money  but  the  buffalo 

flies  were  so  bad  we  never  went  any  more  to  Shreveport. 
Sometimes  we  would  get  farms  to  put  the  cattle  in  at  mg  , 
and  the  farms  were  stocked  with  cockleburrs  and  the  cattles, 
tails  would  get  full  of  burrs  and  when  the  buffalo  flies 

would  get  after  them  they  would  lose  their  tails  fighting 
the  flies.  Their  tails  would  become  entangled  in  small 
pine  trees  and  there  they  would  stand  and  pull  and  bellow 
until  they  got  loose.  You  could  hear  them  bawl  a mile. 
Some  of  the  cattle  would  run  off  and  lay  down  crazed 

with  misery  and  it  was  hard  to  drive  them  back  to  die 

herd  We  sold  the  cattle  in  Shreveport  and  down  Red  River 
some  fifteen  miles  distant.  This  herd  was  gathered  in  Gon- 
zales county  near  where  Waelder  is  now. 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


195 


In  the  fall  of  1870  I gathered  another  herd  near  the  town 
of  Waelder,  Gonzales  county,  and  went  to  New  Orleans. 
On  this  trip  we  had  many  rivers  and  bayous  to  swim. 
Ferryman  wanted  five  to  ten  dollars  for  their  service.  The 
largest  stream  was  Burvicks  Bay  at  Brazier  City,  nine 
hundred  yards  wide  straight  across.  Here  a man  led  an  ox 
to  the  edge  of  the  stream  and  drove  him  into  swimming 
water,  when  two  men  in  canoes,  one  on  each  side  pointed  the 
herd  across.  1 shipped  a carload  from  Brazier  City  to 
New  Orleans  and  drove  the  rest,  selling  to  plantations  until 
I reached  the  Mississippi  River  there  I sold  the  balance, 
getting  a much  better  price  than  I received  for  those  1 ship- 
ped to  New  Orleans,  many  of  the  farmers  giving  me  checks 
on  banks  and  merchants  in  New  Orleans,  very  few  paying  the 
money  down.  Another  herd  of  cattle  went  along  at  the  same 
time,  owned  by  Col.  Fred  Malone  of  Beeville,  Texas,  and 
Capt.  Gibney  of  New  Orleans  and  as  the  latter  knew  the 
city  well,  1 got  him  to  assist  me  in  locating  the  banks  and 
merchants.  One  of  the  merchants  had  moved,  however,  so 
we  went  to  the  city  register  to  find  his  location.  When  I 
reached  his  place  I found  it  to  be  a house  made  of 
beeswax  and  tallow,  and  I began  to  think  that  fellow 
could  not  pay  a check  for  $500.00,  but  it  was  all  paid. 

I also  drove  another  herd  that  same  year  to  Natchez, 
Mississippi,  and  sold  to  two  men  by  the  name  of  John 
McKen  and  James  Gainer,  who  lived  on  Black  River, 
thirty  miles  from  Natchez.  We  made  some  money  on  this 
herd  of  cattle.  Some  of  the  hands  came  back  with  the 
horses  and  wagons,  myself,  Charles  Edwards  and  Henry 
Crozier  taking  a steamboat  on  Black  River,  thence  down  to 
Red  River  and  on  down  to  the  Mississippi  River  to  New 
Orleans.  This  boat  took  on  board  sugar  and  molasses  all 
along  the  way.  It  was  a very  pleasant  trip  and  somewhat 
amusing  to  see  the  hands  load  on  the  barrels  of  sugar  and 
molasses.  They  loaded  that  boat  until  the  deck  was  right 
down  to  the  water’s  edge.  At  New  Orleans  we  took  a train 
to  Brazier  City,  there  we  took  a ship  to  Galveston  and 
from  there  came  by  train  to  our  home  in  Gonzales  county. 


196 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


In  the  year  of  1871  I saddled  up  “Old  Ball,”  my  favorite 
horse,  and  rode  away  to  Kansas,  this  time  for  N.  W.  Cude, 
whose  herd  was  gathered  in  Gonzales,  Caldwell  and  Bastrop 
counties.  When  we  reached  North  Texas  I found  the  Old 
Chisholm  Trail  had  been  abandoned  and  went  far  to  the 
west  to  cross  Red  River.  One  morning  about  11  o’clock 
I rode  on  ahead  of  the  herd,  to  some  timber  where  “Old 
Ball”  stopped  very  suddenly  and  then  1 saw  an  Indian 
standing  near  the  road.  The  Indian  had  a gun,  and  I suppose 
he  was  out  on  a hunt,  but  I gave  my  horse  more  slack  on  the 
bridle  and  passed  on  and  neither  of  us  spoke.  A few  days 
later  two  Indians  came  up  to  the  herd  and  wanted  beef, 
but  I told  them  that  I had  bought  those  cattle,  and  had 
none  to  give  away.  They  talked  some  English  and  asked  to 
see  my  gun.  I gave  it  to  one  of  them  and  they  looked 
it  all  over  and  soon  rode  away  as  fast  as  their  horses 
could  carry  them.  The  cattle  market  was  very  low  that 
year,  so  I failed  to  sell  out  all,  wintering  the  balance  in 
Nebraska  but  they  turned  out  bad.  In  crossing  the  Missouri 
River,  it  being  frozen  over,  the  cattle  milled  out  on  the 
ice  and  broke  through  and  we  lost  sixteen.  The  expense 
of  wintering  was  so  heavy  we  came  out  behind  that  year. 

The  first  cattle  I ever  drove  to  a market  was  in  1867,  t 
to  Houston,  Texas,  by  a man  by  the  name  of  Tumelson 
from  Gonzales  county,  and  the  last  herd  was  in  1872  by 
a man  by  the  name  of  O.  J.  Baker.  R.  D.  Cude  and  myself 
bought  the  cattle  from  a Mr.  Wimberly  in  Hays  county. 
We  drove  to  Kansas  and  stopped  our  herd  about  fifteen 
miles  west  of  Ellsworth  near  the  Kansas  Pacific  Railroad.  ' 
Everything  went  well  except  when  we  got  into  Kansas, 
Bluff  Creek  being  the  line,  we  lay  over  a day  to  rest  and 
clean  up.  Next  morning  just  about  sun-up  1 heard  a gun 
shot  down  the  creek  and  in  a few  minutes  we  saw  two 
Indians  running  two  mules  as  fast  as  they  could  go.  They 
had  shot  a white  man  with  a gun  and  arrows.  He  came 
dragging  up  to  our  camp  with  one  arrow  still  sticking  in 
him,  and  one  of  the  boys  pulled  it  out  and  we  carried 
him  to  a tent  not  far  away. 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


197 


The  trail  drivers  had  many  narrow  escapes  and  were 
exposed  to  many  storms,  cyclones,  hail  and  all  kinds  of 
weather,  stampedes  of  cattle,  running  over  ditches  and 
bluffs  at  night.  Some  few  never  came  back,  but  were 
buried  along  the  lonely  trail,  among  the  wild  roses, 
wrapped  only  in  their  bed  blankets;  no  human  being  living 
near,  just  the  coyote  roaming  there. 


WHEN  LIGHTNING  SET  THE  GRASS  ON  FIRE. 

By  George  W.  Brock,  of  Lockhart,  Texas. 

I was  born  in  Caldwell  county,  Texas,  three  miles  west 
of  Lockhart,  January  25,  i860.  Beginning  at  the  age  of 
nine  years,  I commenced  to  handle  stock,  but  at  that  time 
1 was  too  small  to  get  on  a horse  unaided,  and  my  father 
told  me  not  to  get  off,  but  every  time  I saw  a rabbit 
I would  get  off  and  throw  rocks  at  it  and  then  I would 
have  to  be  helped  back  on  my  horse. 

About  1871  or  1872  I started  on  my  first  trip  on  the 
trail,  going  with  my  father.  When  near  Fort  Worth  father 
concluded  I was  too  young  to  go  on  account  of  the  danger 
of  Indians  and  he  sent  me  back  home. 

I continued  to  work  with  cattle  until  1876,  and  at  this 
date  I went  to  work  for  M.  A.  Withers  herding  300  cows, 
penning  them  at  night,  sleeping  at  the  pens  and  doing  my 
own  cooking. 

In  1878  M.  A.  Withers  took  a bunch  of  boys  to  Fayette 
county,  Texas,  and  bought  about  800  head  of  cattle.  At 
the  crossing  on  the  Colorado  at  Judge  L.  Moore’s  Ranch, 
we  had  a great  experience  in  two  or  three  ways.  We  tried 
first  to  swim  the  cattlte  across  the  river,  but  we  only 
succeeded  in  getting  about  ten  head  across  that  way,  and 
had  to  rope  and  drag  them.  We  then  crossed  the  others 
on  the  ferry  boat.  Here  1 saw  my  first  Jersey.  She  was 
a heifer  and  belonged  to  Judge  Moore  and  it  was  a hard 
matter  to  keep  her  out  of  our  herd.  Judge  Moore  thought 
very  much  of  this  heifer  and  would  watch  everybody  pass- 
ing there  with  cattle.  When  he  came  out  and  found  the 


198 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


thing  in  our  herd  he  threatened  to  prosecute  us  for  attempt- 
ing to  steal  her. 

♦ 

In  January,  1879,  Blanks  and  Withers  began  buying 
cattle  and  pasturing  them,  preparing  for  a drive  in  the 
spring.  On  the  first  day  of  April  we  rounded  up  the 
pasture  to  start  the  herd  north.  On  the  second  we  left  the 
pasture  and  went  about  three  or  four  miles  and  camped  for 
the  night.  We  had  so  few  men  with  us  that  night  we  lost 
about  3200  out  of  3 500  head.  They  just  simply  walked  off 
and  every  one  seemed  to  take  a different  direction,  and 
being  short  of  men  they  went  their  way,  with  the  result  as 
stated. 

The  next  morning  G.  W.  Mills  (Pap)  and  myself  held 
the  300  until  the  others  ate  breakfast.  When  we  went  to 
camp  there  were  two  horses  tied  up  for  us.  Not  one  of  us 
knew  anything  about  these  horses  but  the  general  opinion 
of  the  camp  was  that  one  of  them  was  bad.  The  cook 
said,  “Withers  left  instructions  for  Brock  to  ride  the 
one  supposed  to  be  bad  and  for  Mills  to  ride  the  other 
one.”  So  “Pap”  had  lots  of  fun  while  eating  breakfast  at 
the  thought  of  seeing  Brock  thrown  and  losing  his  saddle. 
Breakfast  over,  Brock  saddled  the  bad  horse  and  mounted 
him  and  he  walked  off  perfectly  quiet,  but  it  was  entirely  a 
different  case  with  “Pap’s”  horse.  “Pap”  was  the  one  that 
went  heavenward  and  had  to  call  for  poultices,  which  was 
so  often  the  case  on  the  trail  for  the  fun  did  not  always 
show  up  just  where  you  were  expecting  it.  Going  back  to 
the  herd,  we  got  them  all  together  by  the  next  day,  moved 
back  into  the  pasture  and  for  four  or  five  nights  these 
cattle  would  walk  off,  so  the  first  night  we  held  them 
we  put  them  on  the  trail  proper  the  next  morning  and  drove 
them  as  far  as  possible.  We  had  no  other  happenings  ex- 
cept an  occasional  storm  or  high  water  stampede,  which 
belonged  to  the  business. 

In  the  edge  of  the  state  of  Kansas  the  cook  accidently 
set  the  grass  on  fire  and  we  had  to  move  into  rough 
country. 

One  night  Mark  Withers  cautioned  me  to  tie  my  horse  good 
so  that  if  anything  happened  1 would  be  ready.  About  12 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


199 


o’clock  the  cattle  stampeded  and  when  I got  to  where  my 
horse  had  been  he  was  gone.  I told  Mark  my  horse  was 

gone  and  he  said  “Durn  it!  I told  you  to  tie  that  horse 

good.”  And  when  he  went  to  where  his  horse  was  tied 
he  was  gone  also,  and  I said,  “Durn  it!  Why  didn’t  you  tie 
him  good?”  We  could  do  nothing  but  listen  to  the  running 
of  the  cattle  and  every  once  in  a while  Mark  would  ex- 
claim, “If  1 only  had  a horse!” 

After  I returned  from  this  trip  I worked  on  the  ranch 

until  1883  and  then  went  to  La  Salle  county  for  Blanks 
and  Withers  and  worked  on  the  ranch  for  four  or  five 
months.  In  1884  we  left  home  for  the  Blanks  and  Withers 
ranch  in  La  Salle  county.  The  first  herd  prepared  was 

turned  over  to  G.  B.  (Gus)  Withers,  numbering  4000 
3’s  and  4’s.  1 started  to  help  Gus  with  this  herd  to  Uvalde 
county  but  we  had  a stampede  just  above  Cotulla  and 
lost  400  or  500  head.  Willie  Hargis  and  myself  were  left 
to  gather  them  up.  We  got  all  but  about  200  head  of 

the  cattle  and  most  of  the  horses.  Some  of  the  horses 

went  back  to  the  ranch  before  stopping.  In  this  stampede 
my  horse  ran  into  a ditch  that  night.  The  cause  of  him 

doing  this  was  because  I was  trying  to  point  the  cattle  away 
from  the  ditch  and  a negro,  Russ  Jones,  was  on  the  op- 
posite side  of  the  herd  trying  to  do  the  same  thing,  and 
the  result  was  that  instead  of  pointing  them  away  from 
the  ditch  we  drove  them  straight  into  it.  The  banks  of 
this  ditch  were  five  or  six  feet  high  and  1 was  fortunate  in 
escaping  unhurt. 

This  stampede  occurred  in  a very  brushy  place  and  the 
men  next  morning  all  looked  like  they  had  been  to  an 

Irish  wake,  all  bloody  and  bruised. 

In  this  drive  we  rounded  up  one  of  those  notorious 
outlaw  steers  which  were  to  be  found  in  the  country  at 
that  time.  Withers  said  if  there  were  any  two  or  three  men 
in  the  outfit  that  had  the  nerve  to  rope  that  steer  and 
lead  him  to  a good  place  he  would  kill  him  for  beef. 
Well,  1 caught  him,  but  if  1 had  not  have  had  others 
close  at  hand  who  came  to  my  rescue  and  also  roped 
him  and  spread  him  out  so  to  speak,  I might  not  have 


200 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


been  writing  this  story.  But  between  us  we  killed  him  and 
enjoyed  his  carcass. 

The  outlaw  steer  above  referred  to  was  rounded  up 
while  we  were  on  the  ranch  after  Hargis  and  I turned 
over  the  cattle  we  gathered  after  the  stampede.  I went 
back  to  the  ranch  and  we  gathered  another  herd  and 
shipped  them  to  Wichita  Falls,  Texas.  Drove  from  there 
to  Julesburg,  Colorado.  Sam  Childress  being  the  boss. 
We  crossed  the  Red  River  at  Doan’s  Store  where  we  laid 
in  supplies  to  last  us  until  we  reached  Dodge  City,  Kansas. 
They  told  us  at  the  store  that  someone  was  stampeding 
horses  across  the  river  and  driving  them  off.  So  when 
we  camped  at  night  after  crossing  the  river  Childress  and 
myself  tied  our  horses  to  the  wagon  and  examined  our 
six-shooters  to  see  that  they  were  in  working  order.  After 
we  had  gone  to  sleep  the  cook  jumped  up  and  said,  “T  he 
horses  are  running.”  Childress  and  I jumped  on  our  horses 
with  our  pistols  in  our  hands  but  just  then  the  cook  dis- 
covered that  it  was  only  a pot  of  beans  boiling  which  he 
had  built  a big  fire  around  before  going  to  bed. 

After  crossing  North  Red  River  in  the  Wichita  Mountains, 
we  met  a Comanche  chief  who  said  he  had  300  bucks: 
besides  the  women  and  children.  1 gave  him  five  crippled 
yearlings  to  keep  his  bunch  away  from  our  outfit,  and  he 
kept  his  promise.  After  we  got  to  the  top  of  the  ridge  1 
looked  down  in  the  valley  of  Washita  River  and  the  whole 
face  of  the  country  was  alive  with  herds.  1 went  back 
and  stopped  the  herd  until  1 could  survey  the  route,  and; 
found  that  by  going  above  the  trail  and  crossing  about  five 
miles  up  and  swimming  the  river  we  could  get  ahead  of 
everything,  so  we  proceeded  to  swim  the  river  and  get 
ahead  in  the  lead  of  all  other  herds. 

Monroe  Hardeman  was  just  behind  us  with  another 
herd  for  Blanks  and  Withers,  and  he  helped  us  swim  our 

herd  and  we  in  turn  helped  him.  After  we  got  both  herds 

across,  I found  that  the  sun  had  taken  all  the  skin  off 

my  back.  Swimming  the  river  and  an  occasional  stampede 

was  about  the  only  excitement  until  we  reached  Kansas. 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


201 


Childress  at  one  time  having  been  shot  all  to  pieces  by 
a bunch  of  soldiers  who  mistook  him  and  others  for  horse 
thieves,  causing  him  to  have  a natural  hatred  toward  all 
soldiers,  and  at  Bear  Creek  he  spied  about  300  negro 
soldiers  coming  toward  us.  He  squared  himself  with  gun  in 
hand  and  was  ready  to  open  fire.  I tried  to  stop  him  but  saw 
there  was  no  use  to  talk  to  him  so  I roped  his  horse 
and  pulled  him  around  and  led  him  off.  I think  that  was 
all  that  saved  our  whole  outfit,  as  we  were  so  badly  out- 
numbered it  would  have  meant  suicide  to  have  started  any- 
thing like  that.  However,  we  had  just  left  Longhorn 
Roundup  and  Childress  had  been  celebrating  considerably 
and  that  might  have  had  something  to  do  with  his  display  of 
nerve  that  he  exhibited  there. 

From  there  to  Dodge  City  everything  went  well.  At 
Dodge  City  every  man  including  the  boss,  except  myself, 
celebrated  in  great  style,  while  I was  left  to  handle  and  hold 
the  outfit. 

After  disposing  of  our  lame  cattle  we  shaped  up  and  moved 
on  to  Ogallala.  About  four  or  five  days’  drive  out  of 
Dodge  City,  Tobe  Swearingen  came  to  our  herd  to  count 
the  cattle,  and  he  and  I did  the  counting.  According  to  my 
count  the  cattle  were  all  there,  but  he  made  a mistake  of 
too,  making  us  out  that  number,  and  it  being  too  late  to 

recount  I spent  an  awful  restless  night.  I couldn’t  under- 
stand how  we  could  lose  that  many  cattle  in  a prairie 

country  like  that.  The  next  morning  we  recounted  and  found 
that  my  count  was  correct.  Then  my  nervousness  left  me. 

Several  days  later  we  had  to  make  a long  drive  for 

water.  We  watered  at  the  North  Republican.  The  lead 

cattle  struck  the  Frenchman  about  sundown,  and  from  then 
until  next  morning  about  10  o’clock  they  kept  coming  in, 
and  every  once  in  a while  a man  would  show  up. 

The  morning  we  started  this  particular  drive  1 ate 
breakfast  at  daylight  and  the  next  meal  I ate  was  at  10 
o’clock  the  next  day. 

For  the  next  day  or  two  we  grazed  along  the  stream, 
so  appropriately  named  Stinking  Water.  When  crossing  the 
Frenchman  the  cook  broke  the  wagon  tongue,  and  we  fixed 


202 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


it  by  wrapping  it  with  ropes  so  that  it  held  out  for  the 
balance  of  the  trip. 

After  leaving  Stinking  Water  for  Ogallala  everything  went 
nicely.  Leaving  Ogallala  we  v/ent  up  the  south  side  of 
the  Platte  River  to  Julesburg  Junction,  where  we  delivered 
our  cattle  to  Governor  Rout  and  Ex-Governor  Brush  of 
Colorado. 

Going  up  the  river  our  only  trouble  was  to  keep  our 
stock  off  the  farmers.  They  had  no  fences  and  it  took  very 
careful  watching  to  keep  them  out  of  those  patches.  To 
let  your  stuff  get  on  those  patches  meant  the  highest  price 
grazing  that  a Texas  horse  or  steer  ever  got.  One  night 
I woke  up  and  heard  the  horse  bell  and  I knew  it  was 
in  the  wrong  direction,  so  I got  up  and  found  them  grazng 
on  one  of  those  high-priced  corn  patches.  I quietly  drove 
them  to  camp,  woke  up  everybody  and  moved  everything 
away  that  night.  1 believe  that  corn  actually  did  the  horses 
good;  at  least  they  seemed  that  night  to  travel  stronger 
than  usual. 

After  reaching  Julesburg  Junction  we  crossed  the  Platte 
and  began  delivering. 

I was  then  sent  to  meet  Gus  Withers  who  had  not  yet 
come  up  with  us.  1 had  three  horses,  riding  one  and  leading 
the  others.  When  crossing  the  Platte  my  horses  were  so 
weak  from  the  trip  from  Texas  and  the  quicksand  so  very 
bad,  they  could  not  carry  me,  so  I led  them,  wading  water 
up  to  my  chin.  After  crossing  the  river  and  about  the  middle 
of  the  evening,  I met  with  something  entirely  different 
from  anything  1 had  ever  before  been  up  against.  I had 
thought  up  to  this  time  that  I knew  what  a Kansas  storm 
was,  but  that  evening  1 was  shown  that  I had  never  been  in 
one  before.  The  lightning  would  strike  the  ground  and 
set  the  grass  on  fire,  then  the  rain  would  put  it  out.  I got 
off  my  horse  and  tied  the  three  together,  took  off  my 
spurs,  six-shooter  and  pocket  knife,  laid  them  down  and 
moved  away.  After  the  storm  was  over  the  sun  came  out 
and  it  looked  as  though  nothing  had  ever  happened,  so  1 
moved  on.  At  night,  not  knowing  where  I was,  I stopped 
at  a good  hole  of  water,  but  1 had  nothing  to  eat.  After 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


203 


laying  down  I heard  the  lowing  of  cattle,  I saddled  up, 
putting  my  bedding  in  front  of  me  and  started  in  the  direction 
of  the  cattle  I had  heard  and  to  my  good  luck  it  was 
Gus’  herd.  The  boys  were  all  very  glad  to  see  me  as  I had 
heard  from  home  and  they  had  not.  They  had  been  in  the 
same  storm  that  I had  just  passed  through  and  the  lightning- 
killed  one  steer  for  them.  Very  shortly  after  I reached 
them  their  herd  stampeded  but  they  did  not  lose  anything, 
and  Gus  said,  “The  cattle  did  that  to  show  they  were 
glad  to  see  Brock.”  I then  piloted  them  back  to  Julesburg 
the  same  route  I had  traveled  in  going  to  them. 

After  all  our  cattle  had  been  delivered  we  naturally  felt 
that  we  could  sleep  as  long  as  we  cared  to.  So  Childress 
and  myself  slept  uptil  10  o’clock  the  next  morning.  The 
sun  was  unusually  bright  and  we  both  being  without 
whiskers  on  the  top  of  our  heads,  the  boys  said  our  heads 
made  very  good  mirrors. 

The  dinner  that  Mark  Withers  gave  us  at  the  station 
when  we  were  ready  to  come  home  paid  me  fully  for  all 
the  meals  I had  lost  on  the  trip. 

The  balance  of  my  work  with  cattle  has  been  on  ranches 
at  home. 

Old  age  and  parting  of  ways  in  life, 

Will  not  erase  the  cowboys’  strife. 

In  after  years  let  come  what  will, 

He  proves  to  be  a cowboy  still. 


“BIG  COWBOY  BALL.” 

The  cowboys  of  Springer,  New  Mexico,  gave  their  fourth 
annual  ball  in  that  city.  They  sent  something  like  eight 
hundred  invitations  at  home,  and  abroad,  inscribed  with 
appropriate  verse,  as  follows: 

“Caller  let  no  echo  slumber, 

Fiddler  sweatin’  like  a steer, 

Huffs  a poundin’  at  the  lumber, 

Makin’  music  the  stars  could  hear; 

Hug  the  gals  up  when  we  swing  ’em, 

Raise  them  plum  off  their  feet, 


204 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


Balance  all  ye  saddle  warmers, 

Rag  a little,  shake  your  feet, 

On  to  next’un,  and  repeat  it, 

Balance  to  the  next  in  waitin’, 
Promenade,  and  off  you  go, 

Seat  your  pards,  and  let  ’em  blow.” 


DID  YOU  EVER  DO  THE  SQUARE? 

Git  yo’  little  sage  hens  ready, 

Trot  ’em  out  upon  the  floor 

Line  up  there,  you  cusses!  Steady! 

Lively,  now.  One  couple  more. 

Shorty,  shed  thet  old  sombrero! 

Broncho,  douse  thet  cigarette; 

Stop  thet  cussin!  Casimero, 

’Fore  the  ladies!  Now,  all  set! 

S’lute  your  ladies,  all  together! 

Ladies  opposite  the  same — 

Hit  the  lumber  with  your  leathers! 
Balance  all,  an’  swing  your  dame! 

Bunch  the  heifers  in  the  middle; 

Circle  stags,  and  do-se-do. 

Pay  attention  to  the  fiddle! 

Swing  her  round  and  off  you  go! 

First  four  forward!  Back  to  places! 

Second  fellow,  shuffle  back ! 

Now  you’ve  got  it  down  to  cases — 
Swing’em  till  their  trotters  crack! 

Gents  all  right  a’heel  and  toeing! 

Swing  ’em,  kiss  ’em  if  you  kin — 

On  to  next  and  keep  a-goin’. 

Till  yer  hit  yer  pards  agin ! 

Gents  to  center,  ladies  ’round  ’em. 

Form  a basket,  balance  all! 

Whirl  yer  gals  to  where  you  found  ’em; 
Promenade  around  the  hall! 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


205 


Balance  to  yer  pards  and  trot  ’em. 

’Round  the  circle  double  quick, 

Grab  an’  kiss  while  you’ve  got  ’em, 

Hold  ’em  to  it  if  they  kick! 

Ladies,  left  hand  to  your  sonnies! 

Alaman!  Grind  right  and  left! 

Balance,  all,  an’  swing  yer  honeys — 

Pick  ’em  up  an’  feel  their  heft! 

Promenade  like  skeery  cattle — 

Balance  all  an’  swing  yer  sweets! 

Shake  yer  spurs  an’  make  ’em  rattle! 

Keno!  Promenade  to  seats. 

— James  Barton  Adams. 


EXPERIENCES  “TENDERFEET  COULD  NOT  SURVIVE. 

By  G.  W.  Mills,  of  Lockhart,  Texas. 

My  father  and  mother  were  both  born  in  Somerset,  state 
of  Kentucky.  I first  saw  the  light  of  day  on  June  2,  1857, 
and  in  the  fall  of  1872  my  father  with  his  family,  in- 
cluding myself,  emigrated  to  Texas.  Our  mode  of  trans- 
portation was  by  way  of  wagons,  there  being  no  railroads 
convenient  at  that  early  date.  My  father  came  to  look  after 
some  land  somewhere  in  the  broad  domain  of  Texas,  he 
knew  not  exactly  where,  that  had  been  left  him  by  an 
older  brother,  Henry  P.  Mills,  who  died  while  serving  as  a 
soldier  in  the  Texas  War  for  Independence.  We  settled  near 
Lockhart  in  1874,  and  at  the  age  of  about  seventeen,  1 
went  to  work  on  the  M.  A.  Withers  ranch,  one  of  the 
biggest  ranches  of  this  section  at  that  time,  which  was  due 
west  of  Lockhart  about  four  miles,  as  the  crow  flies. 

I think  it  would  be  of  interest  to  the  reader  to  have 
some  idea  of  the  appearance  of  that  ranch,  as  it  appeared 
to  me  then  a mere  lad;  it  was  located  on  a little  flowing- 
stream  known  as  Clear  Fork  and  abundantly  fed  by  many 
springs.  This  creek  was  fringed  with  timber,  pecan,  walnut, 
elm,  hackberry,  and  wild  plum,  on  either  bank,  and  dipping 


206 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


into  its  crystal  waters  were  the  weeping  willows.  The  creek 
abounded  with  an  abundance  of  fish  such  as  bass,  channel 
cat  and  the  silver  perch.  The  old  ranch  house  stood  back 
about  three  hundred  yards  east  of  the  creek,  on  the  summit 
of  a gradual  sloping  hillside  which  commanded  a view  of  the 
beautiful  stretch  of  valley  country  roundabout  and  where  it 
was  swept  by  the  gentle  southern  breeze. 

About  one  hundred  and  fifty  yards  from  the  house  were 
the  corrals,  covering  about  four  acres  of  ground,  and  these 
corrals  were  divided  into  various  pens,  in  which  we  “rounded 
up”  from  time  to  time,  the  great  herds  for  marking  and 
branding.  As  a mattter  of  course  these  pens  were  built  to 
endure  and  were  very  strong,  as  cattle  in  those  days  were 
wild  and  in  this  exciting  work  none  but  well  built  pens 
would  hold  them.  The  unitiated  will  probably  be  interested 
in  knowing  just  how  these  corrals,  as  we  termed  them, 
were  built,  when  material  was  not  so  plentiful  as  now. 
The  materal  was  largely  post  oak  rails  which  we  had 
cut  and  hauled  by  ox  teams  about  five  miles  from  the 
timbered  country  of  Caldwell  county.  The  posts  were  of 
fine  cedar  timber  obtained  from  old  Mountain  City  in  Hays 
county.  These  corrals  had  to  be  much  higher  than  the 
ordinary  fences  as  the  infuriated  longhorns  would  in  their 
desperation  to  be  free  try  to  go  over  the  top  or  break  them 
down.  Once  the  material  on  the  ground,  we  dug  deep  wide 
holes,  about  seven  feet  apart,  and  in  these  we  placed  two 
of  the  cedar  posts  in  such  juxtaposition  as  to  hold  the  long 
rails  which  we  piled  one  on  top  of  the  other  until  they 
reached  the  top  of  the  high  posts.  That  being  done,  some 
of  the  old  timers  bound  the  ends  of  the  posts  together  with 
wire,  or  stout  strips  of  raw  hide,  but  at  about  the  time  of  which 
I write  we  began  to  bind  them  with  smooth  wire.  The  sub- 
divisions spoken  of  above  were  divided  into  branding  pens  and 
horse  corrals.  We  would  not  be  true  to  the  picture  we  are 
now  attempting  to  paint  in  words  if  we  fail  to  mention  the 
singularly  attractive  feature  of  the  setting  of  these  particular 
corrals.  They  were  shaded  by  large  spreading  liveoaks, 
hoary  with  age,  where  we  hung  up  our  saddles  and  leggings 
and  various  and  sundry  camp  equipage,  under  which  we 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


207 


slept  on  our  blankets  and  saddle  pillows,  and  partook  ot 
our  frugal  fare.  Some  of  these  grand  old  monarchs  of  the 
forest  still  stand — the  pride  of  the  Texas  cowboy. 

It  must  be  realized  that  we  had  no  fences  arbitrarily  de- 
ciding the  bounds  of  our  little  empire  and  our  cattle  and 
horses  roamed  at  will  over  the  hills  and  valleys,  covered 
with  the  rich,  luxuriant  curly  mesquite  grass,  upon  which 
they  grew  sleek  and  fat. 

After  three  years  work  on  this  busy  ranch  none  but  the 
life  of  a cowboy  appealed  to  me.  Around  the  old  camp  fires 
at  night  I heard  the  tales  of  the  older  men  of  their  ex- 
citing life  on  the  trail,  and  naturally  I felt  like  going  the 
route  that  those  I knew,  admired  and  trusted  had  gone. 
Right  here  1 want  to  put  in  that,  fortunately  for  me,  I was 
associated  with  a few  of  the  grand  old  stockmen  of  early 
days,  to  whose  fine,  though  rugged  characters,  I am  in- 
debted for  that  training  which  carried  me  safely  through 
many  trying  times. 

In  March  1877,  as  our  boss  was  not  to  drive  that  year, 
I secured  employment  with  Ellison  and  Dewees  who  were 
going  to  drive  about  six  herds  up  the  trail  from  this  section 
to  Ogallala,  Nebraska,  on  the  South  Platte  River.  In  the 
six  herds  there  were  about  fifteen  thousand  head  of  mixed 
cattle,  being  about  2500  head  to  the  herd,  each  herd 
having  its  boss  and  trail  outfit,  which  we  will  now  attempt 
to  briefly  describe.  The  boss  is  the  man  in  charge  of  the 
herd;  then  there  were  eight  cowboys,  one  “horse  wrangler” 
and  cook  who  drove  the  wagon,  drawn  by  two  yoke  of 
oxen — the  wagon  containing  our  provisions  and  bedding, 
the  provisions  being  replenished  from  time  to  time  from  the 
“out  posts,”  sometimes  hundreds  of  miles  apart.  We  received 
our  herd  in  the  western  part  of  Gonzales  county,  the  herd 
being  in  charge  of  N.  P.  Ellison,  a cousin  of  Col.  J.  F. 
Ellison,  a grand  old  cow  man  who  owned  the  cattle. 

On  this  trip  we  had  with  us  the  following  boys,  not  a 
one  over  twenty-three  years  of  age:  W.  M.  Ellison,  son 
of  the  boss,  E.  F.  Hilliard,  W.  F.  Felder,  E.  M.  Storey,  Albert 
McQueen,  Ace  Jackson,  myself,  two  negro  cow  hands  and  a 
negro  cook. 


208 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


We  left  the  Lockhart  pasture  about  the  first  of  April,  took 
the  Chisholm  Trail  and  “lit  out.”  My  first  stampede  was  on 
Onion  Creek;  as  usual,  this  occurred  at  night,  about  12 
o’clock.  The  herd  was  bedded  about  one  hundred  yards 
from  the  wagon,  two  men  on  guard.  In  their  fright  the 
cattle  broke  for  the  wagon,  and  we  asleep  at  the  camp,  being- 
aroused  by  the  roar  of  trampling  hoofs  scrambled  up  on 
the  wagon.  One  of  the  older  men  jumped  up  and  shook  a 
blanket  before  them  and  turned  them  off  the  other  way. 
The  first  thing  I remember  was  the  boss  calling  out,  “Boys, 
get  down  and  get  your  horses.”  It  was  then  that  I discovered 
that  I had  quit  my  pallet  and  was  astride  one  of  the  hind 
wheels.  Of  course  we  hurriedly  got  our  horses,  went  around 
the  cattle,  after  about  a mile’s  run,  held  them,  and  they 
quieted  down;  old  hands  at  the  business  will  know  that 
we  slept  no  more  that  night.  This  trip  was  marked  by  ex- 
cessive rainfall,  big  rains  falling  at  night,  and  one  hail 

storm,  adding  greatly  to  the  hardship  of  the  cowboy’s 

lot;  but  we  didn’t  mind  it  much,  and  with  songs  and  jokes 
kept  up  our  spirits. 

When  we  arrived  at  old  Red  River  Station,  where  the 
old  Chisholm  trail  crossed,  we  found  the  river  up,  and 
several  herds  waiting  to  cross;  we  stopped  on  the  east  side 
of  Panther  Creek  and  pitched  camp.  1 want  to  say  here 

that  that  stream  was  rightly  named.  We  killed  a fat  yearling, 
I won’t  say  whose  it  was,  tied  a rope  to  one  end  of  the 
front  bow  of  the  wagon,  the  other  to  a small  tree;  the 

cook  hung  the  beef  on  the  rope;  when  the  boy  came  in 
at  12  o’clock  to  wake  up  the  third  guard  he  discovered 
a panther,  standing  on  his  hind  feet  eating  the  meat  off  of 
the  rope,  just  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  wagon  from  where 
we  were  sleeping.  He  opened  fire  with  his  forty-five  on  the 
panther.  We  thought  “horse  rustlers,”  now  commonly  called 
horse  thieves,  had  attacked  the  camp;  the  noise  of  the  firing- 
stampeded  the  cattle.  As  the  boys  sprang  out  of  their 
blankets  some  had  their  forty-five’s  ready  and  some  made 
for  the  horses  where  it  took  but  a moment  to  saddle  and 
then  off  for  the  cattle.  In  the  rush  E.  M.  Storey  sang 
out,  “Who  is  that?  If  you  don’t  speak  out,  I’ll  cut  loose  at 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


209 


you,”  and  then  we  recognized  the  voice  of  E.  F.  Hilliard, 
calling  out  in  the  inky  darkness  from  the  direction  of  the 
firing,  in  excited  tones;  “It’s  a damned  panther;  he’s  eating 
our  meat  off  the  rope.”  This  was  about  twenty  feet  from 
where  we  were  sound  asleep,  sleeping  as  only  Texas  cowboys 
can.  By  that  time  the  herd  had  gotten  a good  distance 
away.  We  made  a run  to  overtake  the  herd;  finally 
rounded  up  a part  of  them  that  night,  and  the  man  on 
guard  checked  another  part  further  away.  The  balance  we 
found  next  morning  in  the  valley  of  Red  River;  rounded 
all  up  and  started  back  to  camp  about  five  miles  away.  We 
counted  them,  always  a part  of  the  program,  to  see  if  we  had 
lost  any.  To  show  that  our  work  was  not  all  “rough  work,” 
and  that  we  had  our  “book  keeping”  department,  though 
ever  so  simple,  I shall  tell  how  this  counting  was  done. 
The  herd  was  allowed  to  string  out;  two  men  went  on  ahead, 
some  distance  in  width  between  them;  the  others  pointed 
the  herd  in  their  direction  and  so  that  they  would  slowly 
go  between  them;  then  they  counted,  and  with  a knot  on 
the  saddle  string,  or  some  other  convenient  method,  tallied 
them  by  hundreds,  each  calling  out  to  see  if  they  had  agreed; 
then  knowing  the  number  that  we  started  with,  we  knew  if 
our  round  up  had  been  complete. 

We  bedded  the  cattle  on  the  same  bed  ground  that  night; 

1 and  my  pal  stood  guard  from  two  o’clock  in  the  morning 
until  day.  On  guard,  one  rides  one  way  and  the  other  the 
opposite  direction  around.  As  I got  on  the  round  on  the 
side  next  to  the  creek  I heard  the  most  horrifying  yell,,  or 
more  of  a scream  that  I had  ever  heard  in  all  my  life.  This 
blood-curdling  scream  came  from  a bending  tree  about 
sixty  yards  from  the  herd;  my  thick  hair  went  straight  up 
and  has  never  thoroughly  settled  down  since  that  memorable 
night.  The  cattle  jumped  up,  and  about  that  time  I met  my 
pal  coming  toward  me.  Instantly  I said,  “What’s  that?” 
His  reply  betrayed  his  fright  also,  although  he  had  been 
up  the  trail  before.  In  language  picturesque  and  accurate  he 
replied,  “The  scream  of  a panther,”  with  some  adjectives 
before  that  name  which  assured  me  that  my  hair  was  not 
standing  on  end  for  nothing.  From  then  on  until  daylight 


2 10 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


we  just  rode  around  together.  Next  morning  we  told  the 
boss  that  we  had  rather  swim  Red  River  (then  three 
hundred  yards  wide  in  swimming  water)  than  to  stand  guard 
assisted  by  panthers,  ready  to  spring  on  man  or  beast.  A 
conference  was  held  among  the  bosses  and  it  was  decided 
to  cross  some  of  the  herds  that  very  day.  We  hit  the  water 
about  10  o’clock,  and  crossed  our  herd  first,  four  other 
herds  following.  Of  course  the  outfits  assisted  one  another  in 
this  hard  and  dangerous  work;  in  this  crossing  one  of  the 
boys  had  a horse  which  refused  to  swim,  and  the  man  had  to 
jump  off  onto  a wild  steer’s  back,  but  with  pluck  made  a 
safe  landing  on  the  other  side.  This  put  us  into  the  Indian 
Territory  and  new  precautions  had  to  be  taken  to  save  us 
from  attack  by  the  Indians,  the  several  herds  keeping  close 
together  to  be  of  mutual  help,  in  case  of  a surprise  attack. 
The  next  river  was  Washita,  and  we  had  to  swim  that  also, 
narrow  but  deep  and  very  swift.  About  a hundred  miles 
further  on  we  came  to  the  North  Canadian  River,  swimming 
also,  narrow,  deep  and  swift.  When  I swam  across  and 
came  out  on  the  opposite  side  on  the  second  bank,  I got 
down  to  pull  off  my  boots  to  let  the  water  out,  and  wrench 
my  socks.  A few  scattering  elm  trees  were  ahead  and  about 
the  time  I got  my  boots  off  I looked  up  toward  the  trees 
and  saw  my  first  Indian,  who  looked  about  six  and  one- 
half  feet  tall  to  me,  standing  backed  up  against  one  of 
those  elm  trees,  with  the  eagle  feathers  in  his  head,  a long 
rifle  standing  up  in  front  of  him.  He  had  on  buckskin 
clothes  with  a dandy  fringe  on  them.  My  hair  rose  again 
very  suddenly,  so  I lit  straddle  of  my  horse  and  ran  on  out 
to  the  front  cattle;  the  other  two  boys  thought  I was  just 
seeing  things  because  1 was  badly  scared.  They  did  not  be- 
lieve there  was  an  Indian  down  there,  but  when  they  finished 
crossing  the  herd,  and  came  on  up  with  the  wagon,  there 
were  about  fifteen  Indians  showed  up  with  the  one  I had 
first  seen  acting  as  chief,  who  claimed  that  he  was  the 
noted  chief  “Spotted  Tail.”  He  told  the  boss  he  wanted 
“wa-ha,  ” meaning  beef.  Then  I had  it  on  the  boys  and  it 
was  their  time  to  get  scared.  The  boss  knew  it  was  best  to 
use  a little  diplomacy  and  so  he  told  us  to  cut  out  four  or 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


2 1-1 


five  of  the  “drag'  yearlings,”  and  turn  them  over  to  them. 
The  Indians  had  just  as  soon  have  these  lame  or  given-out 
cattle  as  any.  Of  course,  Indian-like  they  wanted  more,  but 
we  out-talked  them,  telling  them  there  were  more  herds  be- 
hind and  they  would  gladly  give  them  some  of  theirs.  Then 
the  chief  put  up  his  spiel  for  “chuck,”  meaning  flour,  bacon, 
etc.  And  they  talked  like  they  meant  to  have  it.  We  ex- 
plained that  our  supply  was  short  but  just  to  wait  on  the 
big  supply  coming  on  behind;  they  left  us  and  went  on  to 
meet  the  other  herds,  so  we  moved  on  out  of  their  zone 
that  evening.  We  saw  no  more  Indians  on  that  trip,  and  we 
did  not  look  for  any.  On  Salt  Fork,  there  came  up  a 
rain  and  lightning  storm,  and  I saw  unbelievable  doings  of 
the  lightning;  it  beat  anything  I ever  saw,  the  lightning 
would  hit  the  side  of  those  hills  and  gouge  out  great  holes 
in  the  earth  like  a bomb  had  struck  them,  and  it  killed 
seven  or  eight  head  of  cattle  in  the  herd  back  of  us  and 
two  horses  out  of  the  “remutha,”  which  being  interpreted 
means  the  saddle  horses.  Nothing  more  eventful  occurred 
and  in  about  a week  we  arrived  at  the  famous  and  re- 
nowned, Dodge  City,  Kansas,  a familiar  name  to  all  cow 
men  in.  that  day.  Then  we  provisioned  and  started  on  the 
tail-end  of  the  journey  to  Ogallala,  about  three  hundred 
miles.  We  arrived  there  about  August  1st,  our  cattle  all  in 
good  shape,  in  better  condition  long  ways  than  when  we 
left;  they  were  there  delivered  to  the  various  purchasers 
who  removed  them  to  their  respective  ranches  in  that  great 
cow  country.  Our  faithful  saddle  horses,  wagons  and  all  were 
disposed  of  with  the  cattle.  On  the  night  of  August  20,  this 
being  1877,  I went  to  call  on  Col.  J.  F.  Ellison,  he  being 
indisposed  and  stopping  at  the  Gass  House,  and  also  to 
get  my  “time,”  which  really  means  wages,  about  $180.00, 
then  a small  fortune  for  a young  cow  boy.  Upon  this  visit  to 
Colonel  Ellison,  I was  introduced  to  two  guests  who  had 
called  to  pay  their  respects;  they  were  two  brothers,  Joel 
and  Joe  Collins,  handsome  young  men,  products  of  the 
West.  About  a week  afterwards  in  that  very  neighborhood, 
the  Union  Pacific  was  held  up,  eighteen  miles  west  of 
Ogallala,  and  the  robbers  rifled  the  express  car,  taking 


2 12 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


$100,000  in  gold  but  scorning  to  take  a huge  amount  of 
silver,  which  perhaps  was  too  heavy  to  take  with  them  in 
their  hasty  flight.  Joel  Collins  was  in  this  very  hold-up 
being  with  the  notorious  Sam  Bass  gang  who  successfully 
did  the  trick.  About  a week  afterward,  Joel  and  George 
Hereford  were  killed  by  a detachment  of  United  States 
soldiers  and  their  part  of  the  loot  recovered,  about  three 
miles  south  of  what  was  known  then  as  Buffalo  Park,  on 
the  K.  P.  Railroad.  Upon  getting  my  time,  1 lit  out  for 
home  over  the  U.  P.  Railroad.  On  the  way  back  1 fell 
in  with  some  wild  and  woolly  green  cow  boys,  making  their 
first  trip  on  a train,  just  like  myself.  At  Grand  Island  the 
train  stopped  for  breakfast;  we  got  off  and  on  the  way  to 
the  eating  place,  a negro  suddenly  came  around  the  corner 
of  the  house,  beating  one  of  those  huge  gongs  making  a 
most  terrific  din  of  noise.  We  were  scared  senseless,  and 
it  was  all  I could  do  to  keep  one  of  those  boys  from  shoot- 
ing that  darkey.  He  contended  that  he  would  let  no  d n 

nigger  stampede  him  by  beating  on  a tin  can.  It  is  hard 
for  you  who  have  always  travelled  and  become  accustomed 
to  the  ways  of  the  city  to  understand  just  how  puzzling 
civilization  is  to  a boy  raised  up  on  the  Texas  frontier, 
whose  life  is  very  simple,  and  who  knows  cow  trails  far 
better  than  he  does  paved  streets  and  the  camp  fires  the 
only  hotels  he  ever  saw  until  forced  out  into  the  world. 

We  arrived  at  Austin  on  time  and  there  1 took  one  of 
those  old  fashioned  stages  to  Lockhart,  feeling  like  1 had 
seen  the  world  and  with  much  pride  telling  the  boys  all 
that  1 had  seen  and  been  through  with.  The  younger  boys 
looked  upon  us  fellows  who  had  been  up  the  trail  as  heroes, 
and  of  course  this  very  thing  incited  others  to  want  to  go. 
It  was  the  life  ambition  of  many  a one  to  make  such  a 
trip.  You  were  not  a graduate  in  the  cowboy’s  school  until 
you  had  been. 

In  ’78  I was  back  on  the  comfortable  old  Withers  Ranch. 
In  ’79  my  old  friend  and  boss,  M.  A.  Withers  took  through 
a herd  and  1 went  with  him.  We  crossed  the  Colorado  at 
Webberville  and  arrived  at  Taylor  about  the  22nd  of  April. 
A rain,  a terrible  rain,  came  up  about  four  o’clock  in  the 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


213 


evening,  raining  all  evening  and  all  night.  It  was  very 
cold  and  we  came  very  near  freezing  to  death.  At  that 
spring  time  period  several  horses  and  cattle  died  of  the 
cold;  every  horse  that  we  rode  that  bitter  night  was  unfit 
for  service  the  balance  of  the  trip,  so  dreadful  was  the 
exposure.  You  understand  cattle  drift  before  wind-driven 
rain,  and  by  morning  we  were  at  Hutto,  eight  miles  away; 
we  had  had  no  supper  and  no  breakfast,  and  not  until 
noon  did  we  have  anything  to  eat.  When  these  “drifts”  take 
place  every  man  and  the  boss  is  in  front  of  the  herd,  holding 
them  as  much  as  possible;  there  are  no  shifts  then,  but 
every  man  to  his  post  all  night  long,  and  the  nights  are 

long,  too.  On  this  memorable  night  1 well  recall  my 

associates:  M.  A.  Withers,  in  charge;  G.  B.  Withers;  G.  W. 
Brock;  A.  N.  Eustace;  C.  W.  Pope;  W.  M.  Ellison;  Joe 

Lewis,  the  scout;  Barney  Roland,  better  known  as  “Pard”; 
and  Edmundo  Martinez,  the  Mexican  horse-wrangler.  Next 
day  it  was  still  bitterly  cold  but  the  rain  had  let  up,  leaving 
that  country  covered  with  water.  About  noon  we  got  back 
to  camp,  and  our  appetites,  always  good,,  were  now  rav- 
enous and  we  looked  forward  to  boiling  coffee  and  hot 

grub  of  some  kind.  Instead,  imagine  our  disappointment,  at 
finding  the  trifling  cook  housed  up  in  the  wagon  covered  in 
his  blankets,  and  hadn’t  prepared  a thing,  hadn’t  even 
started  a fire.  Mr.  Withers,  always  mindful  of  his  men,  was 
outraged  and  hauled  him  out  of  there  with  a demand  to 
know  why  he  didn’t  have  the  boys  something  to  eat.  He 
evasively  replied  that  he  couldn’t  build  a fire  in  that  water. 
Mr.  Withers  gave  him  his  time  and  told  him  to  “light  a 
shuck.”  I can  see  that  cook  now  making  it  over  those  hog- 
wallows,  filled  with  water,  to  the  nearest  town.  Under  a 
a camp  wagon  is  usually  suspended  an  old  cowhide  called 
the  “caboose,”  and  in  that  we  throw  stray  pieces  of 
wood,  etc.,  as  long  as  we  are  in  a country  where  it  can  be 
had,  just  for  use  in  such  emergencies.  It  came  in  handy  that 
time,  sure,  and  some  of  the  boys  got  it  out,  and  with  a 
lavish  use  of  the  oil  can  we  soon  had  things  going,  some 
of  the  boys  doing  the  cooking.  We  were  not  particular  and 
after  a hearty  meal  our  spirits  were  up  again  ready  for  any 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


2 14 

turn  of  fate  in  the  cowboy’s  lot.  The  next  day  we  picked 
up  a boy  from  old  Gonzales  county,  filled  with  the  spirit  of 
adventure,  by  the  name  of  Joe  Knowles,  and  he  cooked 
the  balance  of  the  way  up.  He  was  a good  lad  and  some 
of  the  boys  have  seen  him  since,  just  lately,  and  he  is 
doing  well,  we  all  are  glad  to  know. 

We  went  the  old  Chisholm  trail  and  crossed  the  river 
at  Red  River  Station.  Nothing  exciting  occurred  until  we 
got  to  Turkey  Creek,  Indian  Territory;  there  the  trail  had 
been  changed  to  turn  northwest,  and  hit  the  western  trail 
at  the  Long  Horn  Round  Up  on  the  Cimarron.  The  new 

trail  had  been  marked  out  by  a buffalo  head  set  up  about 

every  half  of  a mile. 

It  was  a hundred  miles  from  Turkey  Creek  to  Long  Horn 
Round  Up.  We  arrived  at  Dodge  City  early  in  July,  sold  our 
steer  yearlings  there  to  the  well-known  cattle  firm  of  Day 
Brothers,  moved  on  up  to  the  Smoky  River,  sold  the  cows 

to  J.  R.  Blocker;  then  lit  out  for  Ogallala,  Nebraska.  At 

about  thirty  miles  from  the  last  named  place,  we  pitched 
camp  about  a mile  from  the  spring  which  curiously  enough 
opens  up  right  in  the  bald  prairie  and  forms  the  head  of 
the  stream  known  as  Stinking  Water.  Here  I had  an  ex- 
perience with  lightning  that  I know  rivals  the  experience 
of  any  man  who  ever  went  up  the  trail;  how  we  escaped 
death  I have  never  understood.  The  storm  hit  us  about  12 
o’clock  at  night,  there  was  some  rain,  and  to  the  north- 
west 1 noticed  just  a few  little  bats  of  lightning;  then  it 
hit  us  in  full  fury  and  we  were  in  the  midst  of  a wonder- 
ful electrical  storm.  We  had  the  following  varieties  of 
lightning,  all  playing  close  at  hand,  1 tell  you;  it  first  com- 
menced like  flash  lightning,  then  came  forked  lightning,  then 
chain  lightning,  followed  by  the  peculiar  blue  lightning; 
after  that  show  it  rapidly  developed  into  ball  lightning  which 
rolled  along  on  the  ground;  after  that  spark  lightning;  then 
most  wonderful  of  all  it  settled  down  on  us  like  a fog;  the 
air  smelled  of  burning  sulphur;  you  could  see  it  on  the  horns 
of  the  cattle,  the  ears  of  our  horses  and  the  brim  of  our 
hats;  it  grew  so  warm,  we  thought  we  might  burn  up  with  it, 
and  M.  A.  Withers  and  Joe  Lewis,  old  timers  told  me  after- 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


2 15 

wards  that  they  never  had  seen  the  like  in  all  of  their  ex- 
periences. Needless  to  say  we  were  all  on  guard  that  night; 

the  cattle  did  not  give  us  so  much  trouble  as  the  constant 

flashes  keeping  them  from  moving  so  much.  We  delivered 
at  Ogallala  and  lit  out  for  Texas. 

Under  the  same  leadership  we  drove  two  herds  in  1880 
to  Fort  Griffin,  going  what  was  known  as  the  Western  trail. 
We  threw  them  together  at  Fort  Griffin,  M.  A.  Withers 
taking  full  charge.  There  were  about  4500  mixed  cattle  in 
that  herd.  It  looked  like  a “round  up”  when  turning  them 
off  of  the  bedding  ground.  When  we  arrived  at  Beaver  Creek 

near  Pease  River,  we  had  a terrible  rain,  a veritable  cloud- 

burst; raining  all  day,  all  night  and  all  next  day.  The  ground 
got  so  soft,  it  was  belly  deep  to  a horse,  and  they  would 
give  out  in  a short  distance,  as  tough  as  they  were.  For 
two  days  and  nights  we  were  without  any  sleep.  We  were 
in  the  saddle  all  of  the  time  except  when  we  snatched  a bite 
to  eat,  and  to  change  saddle  horses.  The  prairie  was  simply 
covered  with  prairie  dogs,  which  had  been  run  out  of  their 
homes  in  the  ground  by  the  water. 

On  this  trip  when  we  left  Washita,  we  were  expecting 
to  find  plenty  of  water  at  the  South  Canadian,  and  found  it 
dry  as  a powder  house.  That  was  nearly  thirty  miles  through 
the  hot  sun  dunes  to  Wolf  Creek — sixty-five  miles  without 
any  water.  The  cattle  milled  all  night,  suffering  for  water 
and  “lowed”  piteously.  Next  morning  we  hit  the  trail  early. 
Late  that  evening  we  arrived  at  the  brow  of  the  old  slope 
down  to  Wolf  Creek,  with  six  men  ahead  to  hold  the  lead 
cattle  back.  They  made  a run  for  the  water,  which  they 
had  smelled  for  some  distance;  ran  through  an  Indian  camp, 
stampeding  the  Indians  and  their  horses;  cattle  and  men  all 
went  off  in  the  river  together. 

Here  we  sold  the  cows,  about  five  hundred,  cutting 
them  out  of  the  great  herd.  Then  we  mosied  along  up  to 
Dodge  on  the  Arkansas,  camped  just  opposite  old  Fort 
Dodge,  five  miles  down  the  river.  Held  there  for  ten  days. 
On  the  Fourth  of  July,  1880,  about  two  o’clock  in  the 
evening,  the  awfulest  hail  storm  came  up  a man  ever  saw. 
The  hail  stones  nearly  beat  us  to  death;  it  knocked  over 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


216 

jack  rabbits,  like  taking  them  off  with  a rifle;  it  even  killed 
a few  yearling's  and  many  fleet  antelope,  but  the  cow  hands 
had  to  stick  to  their  posts,  although  we  nearly  froze  to 
death — on  the  Fourth  of  July.  We  had  knots  and  scars  all 
over  our  hands  and  backs.  The  ice  lay  about  four  inches 
deep  on  the  ground  next  morning.  Ten  miles  back  at  Mul- 
berry next  morning  we  found  ourselves  when  day  broke.  It 
was  so  dark  during  that  storm,  in  the  day  time,  that  you 
could  not  see  a man  ten  feet  away.  We  had  no  supper,  nor 
breakfast,  getting  back  to  camp  next  morning  at  ten  we 
found  the  cook  fixing  to  leave,  thinking  surely  that  all  the 
men  had  been  killed.  We  were  a hardy  lot  or  we  should  have 
been,  no  doubt.  No  wonder  “tenderfeet”  did  not  survive 
those  experiences. 

I guess  this  about  concludes  my  story.  1 met  many  brave 
and  fearless  men  during  those  times.  1 want  to  say  in  con- 
clusion that  many  of  these  men  were  tender  hearted  and  as 
gentle  as  a woman;  they  were  rough  outside  but  refined  in 
heart  and  soul.  Of  all  of  them,  1 shall  always  remember 
Mark  Withers  who  was  always  thoughtful  of  and  devoted 
to  his  men. 


KILLING  OF  “BILLY  THE  KID.” 

By  Fred  E.  Sutton,  of  Oklahoma  City,  Okla. 

I received  a letter  from  your  president,  Mr.  George.  W. 
Saunders,  asking  for  a little  story  of  the  most  exciting  in- 
cident that  I can  recall,  which  occurred  during  our  cowboy 
days.  As  I was  at  an  excitable  age  and  working  out  of  Dodge 
City,  Kansas,  which,  to  put  it  mildly,  was  an  exciting  town, 
it  is  a little  hard  to  decide  which  particular  incident  to  tell 
about;  but  one  that  was  indeed  interesting  to  me  I believe 
will  be  of  some  interest  to  you  and  your  readers.  It  took 
place  in  the  fall  of  ’81,  when  fifty  other  punchers  and 
myself  were  rounding  up  some  thirty  thousand  head  of  cattle 
for  Jesse  Evans,  in  New  Mexico,  during  which  we  had  con- 
siderable trouble  with  a bunch  of  outlaws  and  cattle  rustlers 
headed  and  controlled  by  the  notorious  “Billy  the  Kid.” 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


217 


For  the  information  of  those  who  are  not  familiar  with 
his  history,  I will  say  that  his  name  was  William  H.  Bonney. 
He  was  born  in  New  York  City  on  July  9,  1859,  and  at  the 
age  of  twelve  years  he  killed  a boy  companion  with  a pocket 
knife,  after  which  he  escaped  and  went  to  Kansas,  stopping 
near  Atchison  (where  the  writer  then  lived)  where  he 
worked  on  a farm  for  a year  and  a half.  Leaving  there 
he  went  to  New  Mexico  and  went  to  work  on  a ranch.  He 
stayed  until  the  fall  of  ’79  when  after  a fancied  slight  he 
fell  out  with  a rancher  whom  he  killed;  and  from  that 
day  on  he  was  an  Ishmaelite — his  hand  against  every  man 
and  every  man’s  hand  against  him. 

After  killing  the  rancher  he  surrounded  himself  with  a 
bunch  of  the  toughest  characters  to  be  found  on  the  frontier; 
his  stronghold  was  the  Pecos  Valley  where  he  drank,  gambled, 
stole  cattle  and  murdered  all  that  he  fell  out  with  until,  at 
the  age  of  twenty-two,  his  victims  numbered  the  same  as  his 
years. 

In  the  latter  part  of  1880,  a then  noted  frontier  officer, 
by  the  name  of  Pat  Garrett  was  detailed  to  bring  “The  Kid” 
in,  dead  or  alive,  and  as  he  knew  our  boys  had  been  bothered 
a great  deal,  and  had  lost  several  cattle,  he  came  to  our 
camp  for  help.  I was  detailed  as  one  of  the  posse  to  go  with 
Garrett,  and  we  finally  located  the  outlaw  in  a ranch  house 
about  forty  miles  from  White  Oaks.  After  surrounding  them 
a halt  was  called  for  a parley,  during  which  “Billy  the  Kid” 
sent  out  word  by  a Mexican  outlaw,  by  the  name  of  Jose 
Martinez,  one  of  his  leaders,  that  if  Garrett  would  send  the 
writer,  who  was  known  as  “The  Crooked  S Kid,”  and  Jimmy 
Carlyle,  a young  cowboy,  to  the  house  he  would  try  and  come 
to  some  kind  of  an  agreement.  Garrett  readily  consented  to 
this,  as  he  knew  his  men  and  those  of  “The  Kid,”  and  he 
knew  a battle  meant  death  to  many.  Leaving  our  guns  be- 
hind, Jimmy  and  I went  to  the  house  where  we  found  as 
tough  a bunch  of  out-laws,  gun-fighters,  and  cattle  thieves 
as  ever  infested  a country,  or  were  ever  congregated  in  a 
space  of  that  size.  After  an  hour  spent  in  propositions,  and 
counter-propositions,  we  agreed  to  disagree,  and  started  back 
to  our  own  crowd  with  the  promise  of  not  being  fired  on 


218 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


until  we  reached  them.  But  we  had  only  traversed  about  three- 
fourths  of  the  distance  when  there  was  an  avalanche  of  lead 
sent  in  our  direction,  and  poor  Jimmy,  Sheriff  William  Brad- 
ley, and  a ranchman  by  the  name  of  George  Hindman,  were 
instantly  killed.  Our  posse  then  withdrew. 

The  killing  inflamed  the  whole  Southwest,  as  all  of  the 
dead  men  were  fine  men  and  with  the  exception  of  Jimmy, 
all  had  families. 

After  a few  days  of  rest,  Garrett  started  out  with  the 
avowed  intention  of  staying  on  the  trail  until  he  got  “The 
Kid,”  either  dead  or  alive,  and  in  the  summer  of  1882, 
he  located  him  at  Sumner,  New  Mexico,  and  killed  him  first 
— reading  the  warrant  to  him  afterwards. 

Pat  Garrett  was  one  of  the  bravest  of  frontier  officers,  and 
one  who  never  took  advantage  of  an  enemy  no  matter  what 
the  circumstances  or  provocation.  A short  time  later  he  was 
killed  by  an  outlaw  by  the  name  of  Wayne  Brazel,  at  Las 
Cruces,  New  Mexico,  where  his  grave  is  now  marked  by  a 
monument  erected  by  the  people  of  that  state,  who  knew  and 
loved  him. 

I do  not  know  of  a more  exciting  time  for  yours  truly 
than  when  “Billy  the  Kid”  and  his  grand  aggregation  of 
murderers  and  cow  thieves  opened  fire  on  poor  Jimmy  Car- 
lyle and  me,  and  do  not  know  why  I was  not  killed,  but  such 
is  the  case,  and  in  a few  weeks  we  were  on  our  way  to 
Dodge  City  by  way  of  the  Chisholm  trail  with  thirty  thousand 
head  of  cattle  rounded  up  in  New  Mexico  and  Texas. 

If  this  little  story  comes  to  the  eye  of  any  of  the  old  time 
boys  who  were  on  this  drive  with  me,  1 would  certainly  be 
glad  to  have  them  drop  me  a line. 


HIS  FATHER  MADE  FINE  BOWIE  KNIVES 

By  John  James  Haynes,  of  308  Arden  Grove, 

San  Antonio,  Texas. 

1 was  born  in  the  Republic  of  Texas,  August  6,  1843, 
where  Gonzales  is  now  located.  My  father,  Charles  Haynes, 
who  arrived  in  Texas  some  ten  years  previous,  risked  his 
life  in  helping  Texas  to  gain  her  independence  from  Mexi- 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


2 19 

co.  I was  raised  in  Llano  county,  then  on  the  frontier. 
When  I was  quite  small  I was  taught  to  ride,  shoot,  hunt 
and  run  wild  cattle,  and  all  the  other  things  necessary  to 
withstand  the  requirements  of  those  strenuous  times.  At  a 
very  early  age  my  father  presented  each  of  his  three  sons 
with  a gun,  and  as  he  was  a mechanic  and  smith  by  trade, 
he  made  for  each  of  us  a long  “Bowie”  knife,  and  gave 
instructions  how  to  use  it.  The  rule  in  those  days  was  to 
use  the  Bowie  knife  and  save  powder  and  shot.  1 have 
been  in  many  close  quarters  when  that  knife  came  in  mighty 
handy,  for  in  my  time  I have  killed  every  kind  of  wild 
animal  that  roamed  this  wild  country.  Besides  the  wild  ani- 
mals we  had  worse  foes  to  contend  with — the  savage  In- 
dians, who  often  made  raids  upon  the  white  settlements. 
But  as  this  writing  is  for  our  experiences  with  cattle  on  and 
off  the  trail,  I will  confine  myself  to  those  experiences. 

When  1 was  eighteen  years  old  I joined  the  Confederate 
Army  and  was  sent  out  of  the  State.  I served  the  entire 
four  years  of  that  desperate  struggle,  and  came  home  with 
a crippled  arm.  When  we  were  discharged  we  were  given 
transportation  home,  as  far  as  the  train  went,  and  it  didn’t 
go  far  into  Texas  in  those  days.  We  came  by  water  to 
Galveston,  and  while  our  “high  up”  officers  were  having  a 
“peace  treaty”  somewhere  in  town  we  “high  up  privates  of 
the  rear  ranks”  decided  we  had  been  away  from  home  long 
enough,  and  as  we  did  not  see  anything  of  special  interest 
or  excitement  to  us  there,  we  concluded  to  leave  the  “peace 
subject”  with  the  officers,  so  we  captured  a waiting  train 
and  ordered  the  engineer  to  “charge,”  which  order  was 
promptly  obeyed.  When  any  of  the  boys  reached  a point 
anywhere  near  a bee-line  to  his  home,  he  would  pull  the 
bell-cord  and  drop  off.  I fell  off  at  Brenham,  which  was 
the  end  of  the  road  at  that  time.  From  Brenham  I went 
by  stage  to  Austin,  and  from  Austin  I took  the  “ankle 
express”  for  my  home  in  Llano  county,  seventy-five  miles 
away.  After  a tramp,  tramp,  tramp  with  the  boys  in  gray 
for  four  long  years,  1 was  alone  now,  but  the  thoughts  of 
getting  home  spurred  me  on,  and  1 did  not  mind  the  fatigue 
as  I covered  the  distance.  One  night  I stopped  at  what 


220 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


was  known  as  “Dead  Man’s  Water  Hole,”  so-called  from 
the  fact  that  the  body  of  an  unidentified  man  was  once 
found  there.  I used  a soft  log  that  night  for  my  pillow, 
and  slept  to  the  tunes  of  the  hoot  owls  and  the  coyote 
wolves.  When  I reached  home  I found  my  neighborhood 
was  still  being  raided  by  hostile  Indians.  I was  soon  rigged 
out  with  a new  saddle,  horse  and  gun,  and  ready  to  defend 
my  home  against  the  red  men.  But  I realized  that  I must 
seek  a livelihood,  so,  in  company  with  my  younger  brother, 
Charlie  Haynes,  and  Harve  Putman,  we  decided  to  go  out 
and  round  up  mavericks  and  drive  them  up  the  trail.  Each 
of  us  having  secured  two  ponies  and  a pack  horse,  and  other 
equipment  for  a long  camping  trip,  we  started  out,  estab- 
lishing our  camp  in  the  forks  of  the  North  and  South  Llano 
Rivers  where  Junction  City  now  stands.  At  that  time 
there  were  no  fences  and  very  few  ranches  in  that  region. 
The  cattle  from  the  open  country  of  the  north  and  north- 
west had  drifted  into  that  wild  and  unsettled  wilderness 
without  being  sought  after  and  naturally  had  become  very 
wild.  But  we  came  with  the  intention  of  securing  our 
herd,  despite  the  wildness  of  the  brutes.  At  a point  near 
our  camp  we  found  a natural  trap  that  was  of  material  as- 
sistance to  us.  It  consisted  of  a long  strip  of  land  about 
twenty-five  feet  wide,  with  a deep  hole  of  water  on  one 
side  and  a very  high  bluff  on  the  other.  This  was  the 

watering  place  for  the  cattle  of  that  particular  range.  We 
built  a pen,  and  fenced  in  one  end  of  this  natural  chute, 
leaving  the  bther  end  open  so  that  when  a bunch  of  cattle 

came  down  for  water  we  crowded  in  on  them  and  ran 

them  into  our  pen  through  the  trap.  We  often  started  after 
them  out  on  the  range,  and  in  order  to  get  away  from  us 
they  would  make  for  the  water  hole,  and  right  into  our 

trap  they  would  go.  We  usually  kept  them  in  this  pen 

without  water  or  grass  until  they  became  tame  enough  to 
drive  to  our  other  pens  some  distance  away,  when,  of  course 
they  were  then  driven  regularly  for  water  and  grazing.  We 
kept  this  up  until  we  had  about  a thousand  head  of  mave- 
rick yearlings. 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


22  1 


Harve  Putman  and  my  brother,  Charlie,  decided  to  sell 
their  undivided  interest  in  these  yearling,  and  John  Putman 
and  myself  bought  them  for  $2.50  per  head,  on  credit,  to 
be  paid  for  on  our  return  from  the  Kansas  market.  We 
drove  the  herd  by  way  of  Fort  Worth,  and  crossed  the 
Texas  line  at  Red  River  Station.  We  put  a bell  on  an  old 
cow  for  a leader,  and  when  a yearling  got  lost  from  the 
herd,  and  came  within  hearing  of  that  bell  it  generally  came 
back  to  the  herd.  We  reached  Abilene,  Kansas,  with  our 
vearlings  in  good  shape,  and  we  sold  them  for  eight  dol- 
lars per  head.  We  found  ourselves  in  possession  of  $8,000, 
and  had  started  out  without  a dollar.  But  any  old  trail 
driver  who  found  himself  rich  in  Abilene,  Kansas,  in  1871, 
knows  the  rest. 

In  1872  my  brother,  Charlie,  and  I took  a mixed  herd  of 
about  a thousand  head  up  the  trail.  This  time  we  made  a 
general  round-up.  It  was  the  custom  in  those  days  for  the 
party  or  parties  getting  up  a round-up  to  take  along  cattle 
belonging  to  people  they  knew.  Owners  were  glad  to  have 
them  driven  to  market  and  sold.  The  distance  between 
ranches  was  so  great  that  a consultation  was  not  possible 
every  time,  and  it  was  usually  left  to  the  driver’s  own  judg- 
ment. Be  it  said  to  the  credit  of  those  early  cowmen,  every 
one  was  honest  with  his  neighbor  and  trusted  each  other  ab- 
solutely. The  only  requirement  of  the  law  was  that  the 
cattle  be  inspected  by  the  county  inspector,  the  marks  and 
brands  being  recorded,  and  it  was  agreed  among  the  stock- 
men  that  certain  value  be  placed  on  certain  grades,  ages, 
etc.,  as  assessed  by  the  assessor.  After  driving  the  cattle 
up  the  trail  to  market,  we  then  on  our  return  home  paid 
for  cattle  as  the  claimants  appeared,  according  to  the  as- 
sessment, our  profit  being  the  selling  price,  together  with 
those  not  claimed  or  unknown. 

Our  second  trip  was  somewhat  different  from  the  first 
one  on  account  of  having  so  many  mixed  cattle  in  the  herd. 
They  were  easily  stampeded  by  the  smell  of  buffalo,  and 
other  things  encountered  on  the  trail.  We  had  several 
storms  on  this  trip.  The  lightning  during  these  storms 
seemed  to  be  playing  all  over  the  heads  and  horns  of  the 


222 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


cattle,  and  the  loud  claps  of  thunder  greatly  disturbed  them, 
and  often  caused  a stampede.  When  cattle  stampede  they 
all  move  in  one  direction,  with  the  exactness  and  swift- 
ness of  one  body.  During  a storm  we  would  ride  among 
them  doing  our  best  to  get  them  settled,  but  in  the  dark- 
ness of  the  night,  the  blinding  rain,  loud  peals  of  thunder, 
with  vivid  flashes  of  lightning  to  keep  them  excited,  our 
efforts  were  often  of  no  avail.  When  we  saw  that  they 
were  going,  in  spite  of  all  we  could  do,  we  left  two  of  our 
Mexican  cow  ha  nds  to  “tough  it  out”  with  them.  No  mat- 
ter how  many  miles  away  we  found  the  herd  the  next  day 
the  faithful  Mexicans  were  still  with  it. 

In  a mixed  herd  many  calves  were  born  on  the  trip,  and 
it  was  the  custom  to  kill  them  before  starting  the  herd  each 
morning.  Some  outfits  tried  taking  along  a wagon  for  the 
purpose  of  saving  the  calves,  but  it  did  not  pay. 

We  drove  this  second  herd  to  Council  Grove,  Kansas,  on 
the  Indian  reservation,  and  as  we  did  not  find  ready  sale, 
the  business  men  of  that  place  secured  permission  for  us  to 
hold  them  there  until  the  market  opened.  While  we  were 
in  camp  here  an  incident  occurred  that  was  a bit  interesting 
to  us.  We  had  two  Indian  blankets  which  my  brother  had 
captured  during  a fight  with  Indians  in  Blanco  county, 
Texas,  some  years  before.  In  this  fight  the  chief  of  the 
tribe  had  been  killed.  We  used  the  blankets  for  saddle 
blankets,  and  one  day  we  hung  them  out  to  dry,  when  an 
Indian  on  the  reservation  came  along  and  saw  them.  He 
called  others,  and  they  had  a general  pow-wow  over  them, 
and  the  result  was  that  they  exchanged  us  two  new  gov- 
ernment blankets  for  the  Indian  blankets.  That  night  the 
Indians  all  got  together  and  had  a big  war  dance  around 
those  blankets.  We  found  out  later  that  the  two  blankets 
in  question  had  belonged  to  their  chief.  Although  we  anti- 
cipated trouble  with  the  redskins  on  this  account,  we  were 
not  molested,  and  we  remained  here  for  sometime.  As  the 
market  was  crowded  we  had  to  take  our  time  and  sell  as 
the  demand  came  for  our  cattle.  In  one  deal  we  got  a 
new  wagon  and  a span  of  good  mules.  These  mules  were 
afterwards  stolen  by  Indians  from  my  brother’s  home  in 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


223 


Blanco  county,  during'  a raid  when  the  Indians  killed  a man 
named  Hadden. 

I was  still  in  the  cattle  business  in  Edwards  and  Uvalde 
counties  as  late  as  1893.  My  brand  was  JOHN  (con- 
nected), my  first  name,  easily  remembered  by  all  who  saw 
one  of  my  cattle  in  these  or  adjoining  counties.  My  daugh- 
ters, Violet  and  Susie,  had  their  own  brands,  JOHN  (con- 
nected) and  SUE,  respectively. 

Long  live  the  Old  Trail  Drivers  and  their  descendents. 


WILL  BUILD  A TEN-STORY  MARBLE  HOTEL 
IN  SAN  ANTONIO. 

Sketch  of  John  Young,  of  Alpine,  Texas. 

John  Young  was  born  at  Lockhart,  Texas,  February  12, 
1856,  in  a log  cabin.  He  was  raised  in  Bee  and  Refugio 
counties,  and  went  up  the  trail  five  times,  with  Simpson, 
Jim  Reed,  Jim  Hall,  Goodnight  and  Claire.  He  was  mar- 
ried to  Miss  Lizzie  Drake  at  Tilden,  Texas,  November  28th, 
1883,  and  has  seven  children  living.  Mr.  Young  has  had 
many  thrilling  experiences  on  the  range  and  on  the  trail, 
about  the  most  exciting  of  which  occurred  on  the  Colorado 
River.  He  says: 

“I  have  swam  every  river  from  the  Rio  Grande  to  the 
Platte,  and  came  near  losing  my  life  while  crossing  a herd 
on  the  Colorado  in  1880.  The  river  was  on  a rampage 
and  about  four  hundred  yards  wide.  When  in  midstream 
a drifting  tree  top  brushed  me  off  my  horse  and  sent  me  to 
the  bottom.  When  I came  to  the  surface  my  horse  had 
gotten  away  and  there  was  nothing  for  me  to  do  but  rely 
on  myself,  and  although  I was  badly  hurt  from  the  con- 
tact with  the  limbs  of  the  tree  I struck  out  for  the  shore. 
My  old  friend,  Gus  Claire  of  Beeville,  had  witnessed  the 
accident  and  started  to  me  on  his  horse,  but  1 had  drifted 
several  hundred  yards  down  stream  before  he  reached  me. 
As  he  passed  by  1 caught  the  horse  by  the  tail,  when  sud- 
denly we  got  into  a swift  eddy  which  carried  us  under  a 
bluff  where  we  could  not  land,  and  so  we  had  to  drift 


224 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


down  stream  until  the  eddy  changed,  and  then  swim  back 
to  the  opposite  side  of  the  river.” 

Mr.'  Young  has  occupied  a prominent  place  in  cattle  af- 
fairs in  West  Texas  for  many  years.  He  is  still  the  same 
old  John  Young  the  boys  of  the  trail  knew  in  those  bygone 
days.  It  is  his  ambition  and  life-long  dream  to  at  no  dis- 
tant date  erect  a cattlemen’s  hotel  in  San  Antonio,  on  the 
site  of  the  old  Southern  hotel,  which  for  many  years  was 
the  headquarters  for  all  visiting  cowmen.  With  D.  J.  Wood- 
ward and  T.  A.  Coleman,  he  owns  a mountain  of  the  finest 
marble  in  the  world  near  Alpine,  and  these  three  gentle- 
men are  endeavoring  to  secure  title  to  the  entire  Southern 
Hotel  block,  where  they  propose  to  build  a ten-story  mar- 
ble hotel  to  be  used  exclusively  by  cowmen,  and  where  the 
Old  Trail  Drivers’  reunions  would  be  held  with  all  the  pomp 
and  ceremony  of  a royal  fete.  Negotiations  are  progress- 
ing and  it  is  safe  to  predict  that  this  ambition  of  an  old  com- 
rade will  soon  be  realized. 


WHEN  AB.  BLOCKER  CLIMBED  A FENCE. 

By  G.  M.  Carson,  of  Rockspring,  Texas. 

I was  raised  at  Blanco  City,  and  at  the  age  of  twenty  I 
started  out  to  be  a cowboy  and  go  ‘‘up  the  trail”  in  company 
with  my  brother,  R.  P.  Carson,  J.  J.  Cage  and  Felix  Stubbs. 
We  went  to  Round  Mountain  where  Johnnie  Blocker  was 
receiving  cattle,  and  he  employed  us  at  $30.00  per  month 
and  agreed  to  furnish  us.  He  instructed  us  to  meet  him  at 
the  old  Bundick  ranch  on  the  Perdinales  River  the  1 Oth  of 
March,  1878,  to  begin  branding.  We  were  right  there  on 
time,  and  found  plenty  to  do.  One  day  while  engaged  in 
branding,  a four-year-old  cow  refused  to  go  into  the  chute, 
but  made  a run  for  Ab  Blocker,  who  lost  no  time  in  climb- 
ing to  the  very  top  of  the  high  fence.  She  then  turned  in  my 
direction,  and  1 downed  her  with  a stone  which  1 threw 
with  all  my  might.  I thought  I had  killed  her,  and  felt  that 
I would  be  given  a hasty  discharge.  I looked  around  to 
see  Johnie  Blocker  standing  near,  and  he  said  in  a very 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


225 


pleasant  way,  “Don’t  throw  rocks  at  the  cattle,  boys,” 
and  1 knew  right  then  that  my  job  was  still  secure.  The  cow 
recovered  in  a few  minutes  and  when  she  got  to  her  feet 
again  she  made  a bee-line  for  the  chute.  We  put  the  re- 
versed seven  brand  on  her  and  gave  her  a free  pass  to 
Cheyenne.  When  we  had  finished  branding  we  drove  the 
cattle  across  the  country  between  Austin  and  Lockhart, 
and  met  another  herd  where  we  cut  the  cattle  and  shaped 
up  for  the  trail  about  the  1 5th  of  March.  John  Golden 
was  boss,  and  we  had  about  sixteen  men  in  the  crew.  We 
pointed  the  herd,  numbering  about  3000  head,  north,  cross- 
ing the  Colorado  River  below  Austin,  and  hit  the  long  lone- 
some trail  for  Cheyenne,  Wyoming. 

After  being  on  the  trail  for  some  time  the  horse  wrangler 
quit  us,  and  the  boss  put  me  in  charge  of  the  horses, 
which  I drove  until  we  reached  North  Kansas. 

During  this  drive,  somewhere  in  the  Indian  Territory, 
we  had  a stampede  one  dark  night  and  Felix  Stubbs  anJ 
a negro  named  Joe  Tasby  got  lost  from  the  herd  and  did 
not  get  back  to  us  until  late  the  next  evening. 

This  being  a good  year  for  driving  everything  moved 
along  nicely  until  we  reached  Northern  Kansas,  where  we 
waited  for  another  herd,  and  when  it  came,  we  found 
there  was  a surplus  of  hands,  so  eight  of  us  came  back 
to  Texas,  reaching  Austin  about  the  first  of  July.  After  this 
1 made  several  short  drives,  going  with  one  herd  from 
Frio  county  to  Colorado  City,  Texas. 

1 have  been  engaged  in  the  mercantile  business  at  Rock- 
springs  for  the  past  fifteen  years. 


THREE  TIMES  UP  THE  TRAIL. 

By  W.  E.  Laughlin,  of  Bartlett,  Texas. 

1 made  my  first  drive  in  1877  with  John  Ellis  from  Live 
Oak  county  to  Fort  Worth. 

In  1879  I made  a drive  with  the  Durant  cattle  from 
Williamson  county  to  Taylor  county. 

I made  my  third  drive  in  1880  with  Soules  and  Arm- 
strong from  Williamson  county  to  Ogallala,  Nebraska.  We 


226 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


began  making  up  this  herd  in  February,  started  the  drive 
in  April,  and  reached  our  destination  the  following  July. 
The  drive  was  made  from  Williamson  county  to  Callahan; 
there  the  International  trail  wa.s  taken  up  and  we  went 
by  way  of  Fort  Griffin,  thence  west  of  Fort  Sill,  across 
the  Indian  Territory,  going  into  Kansas  just  east  of  Fort 
Elliot,  and  across  the  state  by  way  of  Fort  Dodge,  and 
on  to  Ogallala. 


FOUND  A LOT  OF  SNUFF  ON  THE  TRAIL. 

By  J.  A.  Blythe,  of  Del  Rio,  Texas. 

I went  up  the  trail  in  1876,  1877  and  1878.  The  first 
two  trips  were  short,  one  to  Fort  Worth  and  one  to  Fort 
Dodge,  but  the  last  trip  was  long,  starting  on  the  4th  of 
March  and  ending  on  the  4th  of  July,  when  we  were 
paid  off  in  Cheyenne,  Wyoming  Territory.  I traveled  along 
the  trail  side  by  side  with  John  R.  Blocker,  and  was  just 
below  him  when  he  had  four  horses  killed  by  lightning  in 
Sydney,  Nebraska. 

I remember  one  incident  in  particular  that  happened 
on  this  trip.  A negro  named  Thad  found  a box  containing 
a lot  of  snuff  the  other  side  of  Fort  Worth.  It  had  probably 
fallen  off  a freight  wagon.  He  was  afraid  to  sell  it  as  we 
passed  through  the  Cross  Timbers,  although  I venture  to  say 
that  at  least  nine  women  out  of  ten  in  that  region  used 
snuff  in  those  days.  But  he  finally  disposed  of  it  at  Red  River 
Station.  At  this  point  we  had  a big  stampede  one  night,  and 
a fellow  tried  to  steal  our  remuda.  Nothing  further  happened 
until  we  reached  Dodge  City,  where  we  crossed  the  Arkansas 
River.  It  was  my  night  off  and  I went  into  Dodge  with 
the  boss,  Sol  West,  to  “whoop  ’em  up,  Liza,”  but  a big 
cloud  came  up  after  I had  paid  $1.25  for  a hair  cut  and 
shave,  and  I had  to  go  back  to  the  herd  and  stand  guard 
all  night  during  a severe  storm.  The  next  place  we  passed 
was  Buffalo  Station,  where  we  delivered  four  hundred 
steers  to  Sparks  and  Taylor,  then  headed  north  to  Ogallala, 
Nebraska,  crossed  the  South  Platte  River,  followed  the 
Union  Pacific  Railroad  to  Big  Springs,  the  point  where  Joel 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


227 


Collins  had  robbed  the  U.  P.  train  and  secured  $80,000  in 
S20.00  gold  pieces,  and  was  later  killed.  We  left  the  North 
Platte  River  and  went  up  Pole  Creek,  but  nothing  of  note 
happened  until  we  reached  Sydney,  Nebraska,  where  a big 
storm  came  up  and  lightning  killed  the  four  horses  for  John 
R.  Blocker.  No  one  was  hurt  except  the  cook,  who  was 
slightly  stunned  by  the  shock.  We  delivered  the  cattle  within 
twelve  miles  of  Cheyenne,  and  all  of  the  boys  came  back  to 
Texas,  except  myself.  1 decided  to  remain  with  the  same 
cattle,  and  we  went  to  Powder  River  to  locate  a ranch  but 
the  weather  got  so  cold  we  located  on  the  North  Platte  River. 
I spent  the  winter  there,  got  homesick  and  came  back  to 
Texas. 


EIGHT  TRIPS  UP  THE  TRAIL. 

By  A.  N.  Eustace,  of  Prairie  Lea,  Texas. 

I made  my  first  trip  up  the  trail  in  1879,  starting  from 
Lockhart,  Caldwell  county,  with  M.  A.  Withers.  We  crossed 
the  Colorado  river  at  Webberville,  and  at  Hutto  we  en- 
countered a terrible  hailstorm  and  rain,  during  which  our 
cattle  drifted  several  miles,  many  of  them  getting  across 
a little  creek,  which  soon  got  on  a rampage,  after  Green 
Mills,  “Pard”  Roland  and  I had  crossed  and  were  gathering 
the  scattered  herd.  Green  was  riding  his  well  known  pony 
“Grunter.”  We  were  wet,  cold,  and  hungry,  but  we  had  to 
stay  with  those  cattle  until  the  next  morning  before  we 
could  get  back  to  the  main  herd.  This  was  my  first  real 
experience  with  trail  driving,  and  if  I could  have  gone 
home  right  then  I would  not  have  been  easily  persuaded 
to  go  on  that  trip. 

From  Hutto  we  continued  our  course  to  Belton  and 
Fort  Worth.  At  this  time  Fort  Worth  was  the  terminus  of 
the  Texas  & Pacific  Railroad.  Crossing  the  Red  River  at 
Red  River  Station  we  traveled  the  old  Chisholm  trail  until 
we  crossed  the  Canadian  River.  Here  we  quit  the  Chisholm 
trail,  going  west  and  intersecting  the  Western  trail  at  Cimar- 
ron River  and  thence  to  Dodge  City,  Kansas,  where  we 
delivered  a part  of  our  herd,  taking  the  remainder  to  Buffalo, 


228 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


Kansas,  on  the  K.  P.  Railroad.  From  here  1 returned  home. 

Our  outfit  was  composed  of  M.  A.  Withers,  Joe  Lewis, 
Green  Mills,  Rus  Withers,  George  Brock,  Cal  Polk,  Barney 
Roland,  Walter  Ellison  and  myself. 

In  1880  I made  my  second  trip.  This  time  we  went  the 
Western  trail,  out  by  old  Fort  Griffin.  We  crossed  the  Red 
River  at  Doan’s  Store,  going  from  there  to  Wolf  Creek, 
Indian  Territory,  where  we  divided  our  herd,  putting  a 
part  of  the  cattle  with  a herd  belonging  to  W.  T.  Jackman. 
We  delivered  this  herd  at  Ogallala,  Nebraska. 

In  1881  I made  my  third  trip  up  the  trail  with  J.  R. 
Shanklin,  of  Prairie  Lea.  We  received  a part  of  our  herd  at 
George  Hindes’  ranch  in  Atascosa  county,  completing  it  at 
Ellison’s  ranch  in  Caldwell  county.  This  time  we  followed 
the  Western  trail  through  to  Ogallala,  Nebraska. 

In  1882  I was  trail-bound  again,  and  made  my  fourth 
trip  with  J.  R.  Shanklin.  We  received  our  herd  in  Wharton 
county  from  Bob  Stafford,  and  came  out  by  Gonzales  and 
Lockhart,  from  whence  we  traveled  the  Western  trail  to 
Throckmorton  county.  Here  I was  taken  with  chills  and 
had  to  return  home. 

In  1883  my  fifth  trip  was  made  with  R.  W.  Robinson, 
whose  herd  was  received  at  Pearsall.  We  went  out  by 
Bandera  and  Kerrville  to  Runnells  county,  where  we  delivered 
a part  of  the  herd  to  Doc  Grounds  who  lived  about  eighteen 
miles  v/est  of  Abilene,  Texas.  From  here  I delivered  the 
balance  of  the  herd  to  J.  R.  Blocker  in  the  Indian  Territory, 
and  returned  to  San  Antonio  with  the  outfit. 

My  next  trip  was  in  1884,  when  I went  with  Giles  Fenner. 
This  year  we  shipped  our  herd  from  Austin  county  to 
Wichita  Falls,  driving  from  there  to  Ogallala,  Nebraska. 
From  Ogallala  we  went  to  Wyoming  and  delivered  the  herd 
to  Dater  Brothers  on  the  Cheyenne  River.  From  there  I went 
with  Captain  Ellison  to  Running  Water,  Wyoming,  to  de- 
liver another  herd  to  Durgin  Brothers  and  then  came  home. 

In  1886  I went  with  Giles  Fenner,  Joe  Blocker,  Driscoll 
and  Davis.  This  herd  we  received  at  Texiketa  ranch,  twenty 
miles  south  of  Stafford  Station.  We  struck  the  west  prong 
of  the  Nueces  River  at  Kickapoo  Springs,  and  continued 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


229 


up  the  river  to  its  head,  passed  over  the  divide  to  the  head 
of  the  Llano  River,  traveled  down  the  Llano  about  forty 
miles  to  Green  Lake,  and  from  there  went  to  Fort  McKavett, 
where  we  crossed  the  San  Saba  River.  This  herd  we  delivered 
at  Hugo,  Colorado. 

My  last  trip  was  made  in  1887.  I went  with  W.  T.  Jack- 
man  from  Jeff  Davis  county.  We  shipped  our  herd  from 
Toyah  to  Big  Spring,  and  from  there  we  went  the  extreme 
Western  trail  across  the  plains  to  Trails  City,  Colorado.  Our 
crowd  was  composed  of  W.  T.  Jackman,  Mac  Randle,  John 
Street,  Lum  Hunt,  Dick  Craft,  the  cook,  our  Mexican  hostler, 
Chapa,  and  two  negroes,  George  Crunk  and  Burrel  Moore. 

Of  course  the  life  of  a trail  driver  was  made  up  of  many 
hardships,  but  now  as  I recall  the  happy  associations  with 
those  good  old  friends  I can  certainly  say  that  my  hardships 
were  far  outnumbered  by  the  good  old  times  spent  on 
the  trail. 


A LONG  TIME  BETWEEN  DRINKS. 

By  Sam  Neill,  La  Pryor,  Texas. 

In  the  spring  of  1880,  1 made  my  first  trip  up  the  trail, 
starting  from  old  Mont  Woodward  ranch  on  the  Leona 
River  in  Frio  county.  We  had  3200  mixed  cattle  in  the 
herd,  which  belonged  to  Captain  John  Lytle.  Billy  Henson 
was  our  corporal,  or  boss.  We  drove  through  to  Ogallala, 
Nebraska,  on  the  South  Platte  River,  and  delivered  them 
to  Jim  Ellison.  It  took  us  five  months  and  ten  days  to  make 
the  trip,  and  I was  the  only  man  that  started  with  the  herd 
and  stayed  with  it  until  delivery  was  made.  The  boss  was 
taken  sick  and  had  to  quit.  Near  Dodge  City,  Kansas,  one 
of  our  men,  Otis  Ivey,  was  killed  by  lightning,  and  within 
a very  few  days  afterward  the  last  of  the  men  who  started 
with  the  herd  left,  but  1 continued  on  the  job. 

With  the  exception  of  being  badly  frightened  several 
times  we  did  not  have  much  trouble  with  the  Indians  on 
this  trip.  I was  just  a mere  boy  at  the  time,  but  I believe 
this  was  the  hardest  trip  I ever  made.  I missed  going  on 
herd  only  one  night  during  the  entire  journey.  My  guard 


230 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


was  from  two  o’clock  until  daylight.  From  the  time  we 

started  1 was  not  inside  of  a house  after  we  left  Frio  Town 
until  we  reached  Ogallala.  The  last  house  1 was  in  before  I 
left  was  Tom  Bibb’s  saloon  in  Frio  Town,  and  the  next  was 
Tuck’s  saloon  in  Ogallala.  This  was  a mighty  long  time 
between  drinks. 

1 made  several  trips  after  this,  the  longest  one  being  to 

the  Cheyenne  River,  South  Dakota.  Gus  Black  was  our 

boss  on  this  trip.  Gus  is  still  living,  rides  horseback  as  well 
as  he  ever  did,  and  looks  after  his  cattle  as  actively  as  a 
young  man. 

1 am  now  an  old  broken-down  cow-puncher,  and  am 

working  for  Colonel  Ike  Pryor,  one  of  the  finest  men  in  the 
world,  on  one  of  his  ranches  in  Zavalla  county.  My  post- 
office  address  is  La  Pryor. 


SCOUTING  AND  ROUTING  IN  THE  GOOD  OLD  DAYS 

By  J.  M.  Custer,  Alias  Bill  Wilson. 

I was  born  in  1865,  and  got  my  first  experience  on  the  cow 
range  in  1876.  Captain  Hall  was  moving  cattle  to  West 
Texas  from  the  Colorado  River  coast  country,  and  as  they 
passed  through  Live  Oak  county  I joined  them  and  worked 
with  them  through  the  fall  of  1876.  In  1877  1 went  to 
work  for  Dillard  Fant,  and  John  Dumant  was  my  boss. 
When  Fant  sold  out  to  George  West  I worked  in  the  Mus- 
tang Camp  on  Spring  Creek  catching  wild  horses  and 
breaking  them.  In  1879  I went  up  the  trail  with  horses  for 
Mr.  Neall,  and  we  delivered  at  Dodge  City,  Kansas.  On  our 
way  up  we  had  several  stampedes,  but  had  no  trouble  with 
the  Indians.  In  1880  I again  went  up  the  trail,  this  time  to 
Ogallala,  Nebraska,  and  we  had  skirmishes  with  the  red- 
skins. One  night  I was  on  herd  north  of  Doan’s  Store  on 
Red  River,  near  the  mouth  of  Cold  Water  Creek,  and  had 
for  a night-mare  a small  Spanish  mule.  That  mule  smelled 
the  Indians,  his  tail  went  right  up  against  his  belly,  and  it 
was  impossible  to  hold  him.  In  fact,  1 did  not  try  to  hold 
him,  just  let  him  take  the  lead  through  the  darkness,  and 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


231 


we  traveled  all  night.  Next  morning  I found  myself  about 
twenty  miles  from  camp.  When  1 got  back  to  the  bunch 
we  were  short  thirty-three  head  so  we  started  out  to  look 
for  the  lost  horses.  The  boss  sent  me  up  the  creek  to  the 
divide  where  there  was  no  timber  to  hide  in  in  case  a fellow 
should  get  after  a bunch  of  Indians.  After  riding  about 
twenty-five  miles  up  the  creek,  and  reaching  a point  not  far 
from  the  Indian  Territory  line,  1 discovered  several  Indians  at 
a distance  of  about  200  yards  coming  toward  me,  but  we  did 
not  meet,  for  their  guns  looked  as  long  as  the  Chisholm  trail, 
and  1 did  not  care  for  them  to  get  in  closer  range.  At  that 
time  I weighed  only  ninety-five  pounds,  but  I picked  up  my 
pony  on  my  spurs  and  when  I let  him  down  I went  down  his 
hind  leg  with  my  quirt.  I pointed  him  back  down  the  creek, 
with  the  yelling  red  devils  in  full  chase,  and  I working  in 
the  lead.  My  boss  had  often  told  me  that  in  a stampede  I 
should  stay  in  the  lead,  and  1 was  bent  on  carrying  out  his 
instructions.  Finally,  after  I had  raced  them  for  several 

miles,  I came  to  a crossing  in  the  creek  which  was  about 
forty  feet  wide  and  in  deep  sand.  Here  my  horse  gave  up 
and  refused  to  go  further.  I shook  him  up  but  he  had  done 
his  best  and  that  was  all  he  could  do.  It  was  then  up  to  me 
and  the  Indians  to  do  the  rest.  So  I went  into  a small  ravine, 
took  the  cartridges  out  of  my  belt  and  put  them  in  my  hat, 
and  waited  for  a fight,  but  the  red  rascals  went  out  of  my 
sight,  leaving  me  as  mad  as  a hornet  and  wanting  to  scrap, 
for  I had  not  had  time  to  fight  them  during  the  chase. 

I went  back  to  South  Texas  in  the  fall  of  1881,  and 
worked  on  the  mustang  range  again  in  1882,  when  I got  into 
trouble  and  had  to  leave  that  region,  and  was  “on  the 

dodge”  for  twelve  years,  during  which  time  I “fought” 

cattle  for  nine  years  almost  night  and  day.  My  little  case  of 
trouble  caused  a “moving”  disposition  to  take  a hold  on 
me,  and  for  two  years  it  seemed  that  everywhere  I went 
the  officers  were  after  me.  During  those  two  years  1 went 
under  my  own  name,  from  place  to  place,  and  state  to 
state,  but  they  chased  me  out,  so  I returned  to  the  plains, 
changed  my  name  to  Bill  Wilson,  and  went  up  the  trail 

several  times,  until  1892.  During  one  of  these  drives  I was 


232 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


in  an  Indian  fight  on  the  Canadian  River.  We  had  a stam- 
pede one  night  and  lost  a few  head  of  cattle,  and  next  day 
1 was  sent  out  to  hunt  for  them.  While  riding  down  the 
river  a bunch  of  Indians  jumped  me.  We  had  a short  race 
for  a thicket  of  cottonwood  trees.  As  usual  I worked  in  the 
lead,  and  when  we  got  to  the  thicket  I went  into  it  like  a 
rabbit.  There  were  seven  Indians  in  the  party,  and  they 
immediately  surrounded  the  thicket.  I had  dismounted,  and 
had  my  Winchester  ready,  so  when  I saw  one  of  the  red- 
skins standing  up  on  his  horse,  I raised  old  “Betsy”  and 
cracked  down,  and  there  was  a dead  Indian.  For  about 
thirty  minutes  we  had  a pretty  lively  time.  The  battle  ended 
with  five  dead  Indians  and  one  scalp  scratch  on  my  head. 

In  1885  I took  a herd  for  Chadman  Brothers  to  Butte, 
Montana.  I delivered  the  herd,  shot  up  the  town,  and  rode 
out  to  camp.  The  next  morning  1 went  back  and  asked  the 
amount  of  damage  I owed  for  shooting  a saloon  glass  to 
pieces.  The  bartender  said  $\ 500.00.  We  asked  him  to  take 
a drink.  We  took  one  more,  and  then  took  off  down  the 
trail. 

The  next  year,  1886,  I had  charge  of  a herd  of  stock 
cattle  and  started  from  Las  Vegas,  New  Mexico,  to  Nebraska. 
On  this  trip  I killed  a smart  Mexican  in  a shooting  scrape. 
I went  out  of  there  under  fire,  but  I held  my  ground,  as 
all  of  the  Mexicans  in  that  region  were  on  my  drag.  But 
a boy  raised  on  the  frontiers  of  Texas,  always  had  a way 
to  beat  that  kind  of  a game.  As  George  Saunders  said  about 
Jack  West:  “If  it  did  not  go  right,  we  always  had  a machine 
to  make  it  go  right.”  The  kind  of  a machine  the  cow-puncher 
had  was  sometimes  called  a “cutter,”  and  sometimes  it  was 
called  a “hog-leg,”  but  it  was  better  known  as  a six-shooter 
gun,  and  we  frequently  had  a use  for  it,  for  it  was  a 
“friend  in  need”  in  those  days.  The  western  boys  always 
stood  pat — no  draw  pat  or  show-down. 

1 ran  a maverick  brand  on  the  head  of  Double  Mountain 
Fork,  on  the  OO  Range.  O.  J.  Warren  was  the  owner.  It 
got  so  big  I lost  my  job  and  had  to  change  my  brand. 
That  was  my  headquarters  in  winter  after  1 got  off  the 
trail. 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


233 


A great  many  so-called  cowboys  nowadays  think  it  is 
fun  to  work  cattle.  It  is  really  play  for  they  have  nothing 
to  do.  In  the  early  days  we  had  no  pens  or  railroads  or 
wire  fences.  When  we  gathered  cattle  it  was  to  hold  them. 
Sometimes  they  would  run  all  night.  The  boss  would  yell  out 
to  us,  “Sing  to  ’em,  boys,”  and  we  would  sing  as  only  a 
cowboy  can  sing,  but  something  would  go  wrong  and  they 
would  be  off  on  a rampage  once  more.  The  worse  the 
weather  the  closer  we  would  have  to  stay,  for  then  was 
the  time  they  gave  the  most  trouble.  Once  I was  on  guard 
six  days  and  nights  without  going  to  bed. 

This  was  written  in  September,  1919,  just  after  I had 
passed  through  a great  Gulf  storm,  in  which  we  lost  every- 
thing, house  washed  away,  and  everything  lost.-  There  are 
nine  in  my  family,  but  I did  not  lose  any  of  them.  We 
were  in.  the  storm  for  twenty  hours  and  during  that  fearful 
period  I thought  of  the  old  times  on  the  trail,  when  the 
rain,  hail  and  thunder  storms  used  to  play  such  havoc  with 
us.  Those  were  strenuous  times,  and  we  endured  many  hard- 
ships that  will  never  be  recorded  for  the  perusal  of  on- 
coming generations,  but  just  the  same  we  had  our  day, 
and  the  world  is  better  for  it. 


THE  OLD  TRAIL  DRIVER 

May  his  life’s  future  pathway  with  roses  be  strewn, 
Whose  thorns  have  all  been  pruned  away; 

May  sunshine  abide  when  its  shadows  have  flown — 
Is  the  blessing  I wish  him  today. 

— Branch  Isabell,  Odessa,  Texas. 


CATCHING  ANTELOPE  AND  BUFFALO  ON  THE  TRAIL. 

By  A.  Huffmeyer,  of  San  Antonio,  Texas. 

My  first  trip  up  the  trail  was  in  1876  with  a herd  of 
1600  steers  belonging  to  Woodward  and  Oge  of  Frio  county, 
the  man  in  charge  being  Dick  Crews.  We  left  the  ranch  on 
the  Frio  River,  four  miles  above  Frio  Town  on  the  14th  of 


234 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


March  and  delivered  the  herd  at  Fort  Sill  in  the  Indian  Terri- 
tory to  the  agent  at  the  fort  seven  weeks  after  we  left  the 
ranch.  We  had  considerable  trouble  just  after  starting  until 
we  got  out  of  the  brush,  after  which  we  got  along  nicely. 
The  weather  was  fine,  no  severe  storms  or  cyclones  to  con- 
tend with.  These  cattle  were  purchased  by  the  government 
for  the  Tonkaway  tribe  of  Indians.  After  delivering  we  started 
back  home  with  our  entire  outfit,  eleven  men  and  the 
cook.  We  reached  home  safely  and  immediately  went  to 
work  on  the  ranch. 

In  the  spring  of  1877  we  commenced  rounding  up  another 
herd,  and  were  ready  to  make  the  start  by  the  1 5th  of 
March.  Gus  Black,  who  now  lives  at  Eagle  Pass,  was  in 
charge  of  this  herd,  and  we  had,  as  on  the  previous  drive, 
eleven  men  in  the  outfit.  We  had  the  same  trouble  with 
the  cattle  as  on  our  first  trip,  but  as  soon  as  we  reached 
the  open  country  they  moved  along  well.  This  herd  was 
headed  for  Dodge  City,  on  the  Arkansas  River,  and  we 
reached  our  destination  about  the  20th  of  the  following 
July,  with  our  cattle  in  better  shape  than  when  we  started. 
Mr.  Oge,  who  was  in  Dodge  City  awaiting  our  arrival,  came 
out  to  meet  us  and  remained  with  us  until  we  delivered. 
Dodge  City  was  then  a wide-open  town.  Gambling  and 
fandangoes  were  in  full  blast.  While  we  were  there  two  men 
were  killed  in  a saloon  row. 

The  cook  and  horse  wrangler  started  back  over  the 
trail  with  our  saddles  and  outfits  with  them,  and  the  balance 
of  us  returned  on  the  train. 

The  next  year,  1878,  we  gathered  our  herd  early  and 
were  ready  to  start  by  the  first  of  March.  This  herd  was 
taken  through  by  Virgil  Johnson,  who  died  several  years 
ago.  We  had  about  two  thousand  head  of  mixed  cows  and 
steers.  It  happened  to  be  a wet  season  and  we  lost  a great 
deal  of  sleep  from  the  very  start  until  we  reached  Red  River, 
on  account  of  the  excessive  rains.  At  Red  River  Station  we 
found  about  a dozen  herds  scattered  over  the  country  waiting 
for  the  rise  in  Red  River  to  run  down  so  they  could  cross 
that  stream.  While  we  were  here  a severe  thunder  storm 
came  up  and  rain  fell  in  torrents.  While  it  was  in  progress 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


235 


236 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


I could  see  the  lightning  playing  on  the  brim  of  my  hat  and 
the  tips  of  my  horse’s  ears.  Suddenly  a terrific  bolt  of 
lightning  struck  right  in  our  midst  and  killed  nine  of  our 
best  cattle.  It  stunned  my  horse  and  he  fell  to  the  ground,  but 
was  up  in  an  instant  and  ready  to  go.  The  cattle  stampeded 
and  scattered  and  it  was  all  that  we  could  do  to  keep  ahead 
of  them.  After  running  them  for  a mile  or  more,  every  man 
found  that  he  had  a bunch  of  his  own  to  look  after,  they 
were  so  badly  scattered  and  frightened.  1 managed  to  hold 
236  head  the  balance  of  the  night,  and  when  daylight  came 
we  worked  the  bunches  back  together  and  made  a count 
and  found  that  we  had  lost  over  three  hundred  head,  which 
meant  some  tall  rustling  for  the  boys.  Before  night  we  had 
rounded  up  all  of  the  strays  except  about  forty  head  which 
we  lost  entirely.  We  waited  a couple  of  days  longer  for  the 
river  to  fall,  but  it  seemed  to  keep  rising  so  Mr.  Johnson 
decided  to  ferry  our  chuck  wagon  over  and  swim  the  herd 
across.  When  we  struck  the  stream  it  was  bank  full,  with 
a sandbar  (quicksand)  showing  in  the  middle  of  the  river. 
In  order  to  get  the  cattle  to  take  the  water  we  brought  our 
work  oxen  down  and  started  them  across.  They  seemed  to 
know  just  what  was  wanted  for  when  they  reached  the  edge 
of  the  water  they  walked  right  out  into  the  deep  current, 
and  began  swimming  across,  the  balance  of  the  herd  follow- 
ing. Four  of  our  steers  stopped  on  the  bar  of  quicksand  and 
bogged  down  and  we  had  to  swim  out  and  extricate  them 
after  we  had  all  the  others  on  the  far  side.  Every  one  of 
them  showed  fight  when  we  pulled  him  out  of  the  quicksand, 
and,  took  right  after  us  and  we  had  to  hustle  to  keep  out  of 
reach.  On  the  other  side  of  the  river  we  found  the  bottoms 
full  of  ripe  wild  plums  and  enjoyed  quite  a treat. 

When  we  took  the  trail  again  we  could  see  the  Wichita 
Mountains  in  the  distance  about  seventy-five  miles  away. 
We  knew  the  trail  passed  along  the  foot  of  those  mountains, 
but  on  account  of  water  the  trail  made  a big  curve  to  the 
right  which  made  it  a longer  drive,  so  in  order  to  save 
time  Mr.  Johnson  decided  to  try  to  go  straight  through  on  a 
bee-line  to  the  foot  on  the  Wichitas,  and  thus  save  several 
days.  It  proved  to  be  a bad  venture,  for  we  traveled  with- 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


237 


out  water  for  two  days,  not  a drop  for  the  cattle  to  drink 
or  with  which  to  quench  our  thirst.  We  had  to  keep  travel- 
ling, and  by  noon  the  third  day  our  herd  was  strung  out  for 
fully  two  miles,  with  the  big  steers  in  the  lead  going  like  race 
horses,  and  the  old  dogies  bringing  up  the  rear.  1 happened 
to  be  on  the  point  and  about  noon  I saw  the  leaders  throw 
up  their  heads  and  start  to  run.  Mr.  Johnson  said,  “They 
smell  water,”  and  sure  enough  after  crossing  a ridge  we 
found  a little  stream  of  clear  sweet  water.  We  camped  right 
there  that  day  and  all  of  the  next  to  allow  our  stock  to 
rest.  The  country  was  open  and  was  covered  with  the  finest 
grass  I ever  saw.  We  reached  the  Wichita  Mountains  and 
got  back  on  the  old  trail.  While  traveling  along  we  permitted 
our  herd  to  scatter  and  graze,  and  as  we  were  proceeding 
slowly  we  discovered  a brown  bunch  of  something  on  a 
ridge  about  a mile  away.  It  turned  out  to  be  a herd  of 
buffalo,  which  were  the  first  1 had  ever  seen.  We  decided  to 
go  forth  and  kill  some  of  the  animals  and  accordingly  several 
of  us  mounted  fresh  horses  and  put  out  to  go  around  them 
and  head  them  toward  our  herd  so  the  other  boys  could 
get  a chance  to  kill  some  of  them.  But  when  within  two 
hundred  yards  of  the  buffalo  they  saw  us  coming  and 
struck  a bee-line  for  the  north  pole.  We  yelled  and  fired 
at  them  without  result,  they  just  kept  on  travelling.  I gave 
out  of  ammunition  and  was  determined  not  to  go  back 
empty-handed,  so  1 took  down  my  lariat  and  selected  a 
young  bull  about  two  years  old,  and  soon  had  him  lassoed, 
but  found  out  that  I was  not  fooling  with  a two-year-old 
cow  brute.  I think  I let  that  bull  run  over  my  rope  a dozen 
times  and  threw  him  each  time,  but  he  would  be  up  in  an 
instant,  and  1 just  could  not  hold  him.  I called  Shelby  to 
my  assistance  and  the  two  of  us  finally  managed  to  get 
him  down  and  cut  his  throat.  Shelby  went  back  to  the  herd 
while  I remained  and  skinned  the  buffalo  and  had  him  ready 
to  load  into  the  wagon  when  it  came  along.  This  same 
young  man,  Shelby,  began  bragging  about  the  fine  young 
horse  he  owned  and  said  he  would  bet  any  man  $10.00  that 
he  could  catch  an  antelope  on  him,  so  one  of  the  boys  took 
the  bet,  and  the  next  day  the  race  came  off.  We  espied 


238 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


a bunch  of  antelope  on  a ridge  400  or  500  yards  away,  and 
Shelby  put  out  in  their  direction.  As  soon  as  they  saw  him 
coming  they  scampered  away  due  north.  The  country  was 
almost  a level  plain  but  there  were  a few  ridges,  and  for 
quite  awhile  we  could  see  the  race  but  finally  Shelby  passed 
out  of  sight.  We  kept  grazing  the  herd  along  all  the  time 
watching  for  Shelby,  and  after  a long  time  he  hove  in  sight 
away  off  to  the  north  and  coming  in  our  direction  on  the 
right  side  of  the  herd  with  the  antelope  leading  the  race 
by  some  300  yards.  It  is  said  that  antelope  as  well  as  other 
wild  animals  have  a certain  range,  and  it  seemed  so  in  this 
case,  for  when  Shelby  struck  out  after  this  one  it  made  a 
big  circle  and  came  right  back  to  where  we  first  saw  it.  We 
could  see  that  Shelby  was  losing  ground,  and  the  antelope 
was  about  all  in  for  its  tongue  was  hanging  out  of  its 
mouth  when  it  came  by  us  and  it  was  panting  furiously.  It 
did  not  seem  to  pay  any  attention  to*  our  herd  or  the  men 
around  it,  so  Johnson  told  a Mexican  to  go  out  and  lasso 
it.  He  succeeded  in  doing  so  in  a very  few  minutes.  Poor 
old  Shelby  came  back  with  his  horse  completely  fagged  out, 
and  lost  the  ten  dollars.  His  horse  did  not  fully  recover 
from  the  chase  for  over  two  weeks. 

While  we  were  in  the  Osage  Nation  an  Indian  chief  and 
four  bucks  came  to  our  camp  one  day  and  wanted  us  to 
give  them  a steer  or  two  for  allowing  us  to  graze  our  cattle 
through  their  reservation.  Mr.  Johnson  refused  to  give  them 
any,  and  the  Indians  went  away  in  an  ugly  humor,  threaten- 
ing to  come  back  and  stampede  our  herd  that  night  and 
get  one  anyhow.  Mr.  Johnson  told  them  to  just  try  that 
trick  and  pointed  to  our  Winchesters.  Of  course  we  expected 
trouble,  but  the  Indians  failed  to  carry  out  their  threat. 

Everything  went  along  smoothly  after  that.  It  rained 
on  us  frequently,  but  only  showers.  As  we  were  going 
along  through  a little  creek  bottom  after  a shower  one 
morning  we  discovered  a lot  of  wild  turkeys,  and  I decided 
to  catch  a gobbler,  and  gave  chase  after  a big  fellow.  After 
running  him  for  quite  a while  I managed  to  hit  him  on  the 
head  with  the  butt  end  of  my  quirt.  That  night  we  had 
stewed  wild  turkey  on  our  menu  for  a change. 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


239 


We  crossed  over  the  line  into  Kansas,  and  now  and 
then  we  could  see  a little  14x16  box  house  where  some 
farmer  had  located  his  pre-emption,  and  near  it  would  be 
a few  acres  in  a field,  but  no  trees,  fences  or  other  im- 
provements. These  squatters  were  not  very  friendly  toward 
the  Texas  cowboys. 

We  reached  Nebraska  in  the  early  part  of  June,  and  one 
morning  a regular  blizzard  came  upon  us,  and  for  about  two 
hours  we  had  sleet  striking  us  in  the  face.  Our  overcoats 
were  rolled  up  in  the  wagon,  so  we  just  had  to  grin  and 
bear  it.  We  reached  the  American  River  that  day  and  found 
a few  cottonwood  trees  but  the  limbs  we  gathered  with  which 
to  make  a fire  and  warm  our  chilled  bodies  would  not 
burn,  and  we  had  to  “tough  it  out.”  When  we  reached  the 
Platte  River  we  found  protection  for  our  herd  in  the 
draws  or  ravines  there.  We  delivered  the  herd  at  Ogallala 
and  my  uncle,  Mr.  Oge,  sold  all  of  the  cow  ponies  and  out- 
fit and  all  hands  took  the  train  for  home. 

This  was  my  last  experience  on  the  trail.  After  reaching 
San  Antonio  I went  to  Bandera  and  joined  my  brother  in 
the  mercantile  business  in  1878. 


DROVE  A HERD  TO  MISSISSIPPI  AND  ALABAMA. 

By  W.  D.  H.  Saunders,  721  Rigsby  Avenue, 

San  Antonio,  Texas 

I was  born  in  Yellow  Brushy  county,  Mississippi,  March  1, 
1845,  and  came  to  Texas  with  my  parent':  in  1850,  locating 
in  Gonzales  county.  Although  quite  small  at  that  time  I 
remember  when  crossing  the  Mississippi  River  at  Vicksburg, 
a fire  started  on  the  boat  and  there  was  great  excitement 
on  board.  The  passengers  and  crew  succeeded  in  extinguishing 
the  fire  before  it  gained  much  headway.  We  moved  to 
Goliad  county  in  1859. 

I was  married  June  27,  1866,  to  Miss  Annie  New  in 
Bee  county,  Texas.  To  us  were  born  twelve  children,  eleven 
of  whom  are  yet  living.  I was  engaged  in  the  mercantile 
business  in  Bee  county  several  years,  later  moving  to  Sayers, 


240 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


Bexar  county,  in  1884,  where  I was  postmaster  and  merchant 
for  twenty  years.  I moved  to  San  Antonio  in  1919.  T.  B. 
Saunders,  a prominent  business  man  of  Fort  Worth  is  my 
son. 

In  October,  1862,  I left  Goliad  with  Jim  Borroum  and 
Monroe  Choate  with  eight  hundred  beeves  for  Mississippi. 

We  crossed  the  Guadalupe  River  at  Clinton,  and  went  to 
Sweet  Home  in  Lavaca  county,  where  we  rented  a field  in 
which  to  pen  our  cattle.  In  this  field  was  a large  haystack. 
The  cattle  became  frightened  at  this  haystack  and  stampeded. 
Next  morning  we  were  eight  miles  from  camp  and  lost  three 
hundred  of  the  beeves.  We  remained  there  several  days  to 
round  up  our  cattle,  and  then  started  on  our  trip,  crossing  the 
Colorado  at  Columbus,  the  Brazos  at  Richmond,  the  Trinity 
at  Liberty,  the  Natchez  at  Beaumont,  the  Sabine  near  Orange, 
and  then  passed  into  Louisiana,  after  which  we  crossed  the 
Culeshoe  River  and  passed  through  Operluches,  where  we 
met  Crump  and  Fleming  who  bought  half  interest  in  our 
herd,  and  put  in  three  hundred  more,  making  eleven  hundred 
in  all. 

When  we  were  near  the  Mississippi  River  the  Confederate 
soldiers  arrested  all  of  our  crowd,  thinking  we  were  trying 
to  get  the  beeves  to  the  Yankees.  They  took  the  owners  of 
the  herd  to  Alexandria  and  held  the  rest  of  us  four  or  five 
days,  but  as  they  could  not  prove  anything  we  were  all  re- 
leased and  permitted  to  pursue  our  journey.  When  we  reached 
the  Mississippi  a thousand  of  the  beeves  took  the  water  and 
easily  swam  across,  but  we  had  to  sell  one  hundred  on  this 
side  of  the  river  as  we  could  not  get  them  across.  We  had 
an  old  negro  with  us  who  was  very  excitable,  and  was  always 
uneasy  for  fear  the  Yankees  would  get  him,  and  we  had  a 
great  deal  of  difficulty  in  keeping  him  with  us. 

We  found  sugar  mills  at  all  of  the  large  plantations  and 
whenever  we  stopped  at  a mill  our  boys  were  told  to  “help 
themselves,”  which  they  usually  did  with  the  result  that 
they  often  ate  too  much  and  were  sick  from  the  effects  of  it. 

After  we  crossed  the  Mississippi  the  Confederate  soldiers 
arrested  us  again,  and  took  our  men  to  Fort  Hudson,  where 
they  kept  them  several  days,  but  as  in  the  former  case, 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


241 


they  found  nothing  against  us  and  turned  us  loose.  At  Wood- 
ville,  Mississippi,  the  cattle  were  divided,  and  Borroum  and 
Choate  sold  theirs  to  parties  there.  Crum  and  Fleming  went 
on  to  Mobile,  Alabama,  where  they  sold  their  cattle. 

At  Woodville  we  stayed  at  a plantation  owned  by  Dr. 
Simms.  The  fence  around  this  plantation  was  made  of 
hedges.  One  night  Dr.  Simms  persuaded  Upshur  Brookin 
and  myself  to  go  bird  hunting.  We  had  to  carry  a light  and 
kill  the  birds  with  a stick.  We  succeeded  in  killing  but  one 
bird,  and  the  next  morning  at  breakfast  Upshur  found  that 
bird  on  his  plate.  Dr.  Simms  had  a large  cane  brake  on  his 
farm  where  he  kept  his  mules  and  horses.  The  doctor  had 
never  seen  a hair  rope,  so  while  we  were  there  he  drove 
up  all  of  his  horses  and  had  us  trim  their  manes  and  tails  to 
get  hair  and  make  a rope  for  him. 

Upshur  Brookin,  J.  B.  New  and  myself  came  home  to- 
gether. We  crossed  the  Mississippi  with  our  horses  on  a 
ferry-boat.  The  water  came  within  two  inches  of  the  top  of 
the  boat  and  I almost  knew  we  would  sink  before  we 
got  across.  I reached  home  in  January  and  enlisted  in  the 
army  at  Corpus  Christi,  February  23,  1863,  when  I was 
just  seventeen  years  old. 


“TRAIL  LIFE.” 

Below  is  a short  sketch  of  some  of  the  incidents  of  trail 
life  as  related  and  experienced  by  Mr.  James  Gibson  of 
Alice,  Texas. 

James  Gibson,  born  in  Maryland  and  reared  in  Virginia, 
came  to  Texas  as  a young  boy  in  the  early  seventies. 

It  was  solely  for  the  love  of  adventure  that  he  came, 
seeking  what  the  new  country  might  have  in  store  for  him. 
And  although  his  father  was  adverse  to  having  him  come  to 
a strange  new  country,  he  gave  him  means  for  the  trip  and 
a letter  of  introduction  to  Major  Hutchison  of  San  Marcos, 
who  had  been  a law  student  under  an  uncle  in  Charleston, 
Virginia. 

Mr.  Gibson  and  a distant  relative  by  name  of  Oscar  Flagg 
made  the  trip  together.  They  landed  at  Galveston,  Texas, 


242 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


and  from  there  made  their  way  to  San  Marcos,  but  wanting 
to  be  without  restriction  the  letter  to  Major  Hutchison  was 
never  presented;  and  as  the  means  for  the  trip  had  become 
exhausted  these  boys  went  about  seeking  whatever  employ- 
ment they  might  find.  Their  first  work  was  with  Mr.  H. 
C.  Story  of  San  Marcos,  now  a prominent  stockman. 

The  first  position  with  “a  trip  up  the  trail”  was  made 
with  Coon  Dunman  of  Refugio,  Mr.  Gibson  driving  the 
remuda.  This  position  he  liked  as  he  was  relieved  of  night 
herding,  except  in  nights  of  storm  when  all  hands  were 
called  upon  to  hold  the  cattle.  This  herd  was  driven  to 
Coleman  City,  and  delivered  to  an  English  syndicate,  after 
which  he  returned  to  Sweet  Home,  Lavaca  county,  and 
worked  on  the  Willis  McCutcheon  Ranch. 

Later,  while  working  as  ranch  foreman  for  D.  R.  Fant 
on  his  Live  Oak  ranch  Mr.  Gibson  was  one  evening  “held 
up”  by  two  bandits  upon  returning  home  from  doctoring 
horses  in  a lower  pasture.  The  outlaws  demanded  his  gun 
and  when  told  that  he  had  none,  then  demanded  his  new 
saddle  but  after  they  had  been  made  to  see  that  they  already 
had  possessed  themselves  of  all  else  he  had  except  that, 
they  decided  to  let  him  keep  it,  and  started  on  their  way. 

Upon  entering  the  ranch  it  was  found  to  have  been  strip- 
ped of  all  its  choicest  possessions.  Mr.  Gibson  then  set  out 
for  the  nearest  camp  to  find  help  but  being  unable  to  get 
any,  borrowed  from  Geo.  S.  Fokes  his  gun  and  fourteen 
cartridges  (all  he  had)  and  returned  to  the  ranch.  Imagine 
his  surprise  upon  entering  the  home  pasture  to  find  camp- 
ing beside  the  gate  the  same  men  who  had  caused  him  so 
much  trouble  the  day  before.  They  again  demanded  the 
saddle,  evidently  censuring  themselves  for  their  generosity 
of  the  day  before,  but  being  now  in  possession  of  a gun  he 
refused,  which  as  the  usual  thing  brought  the  guns  of  both 
sides  into  play.  Mr.  Gibson  seeing  a big  tree  nearby  gained 
that  and  shooting  from  behind  its  protecting  trunk,  finally 
succeeded  in  putting  them  to  rout.  As  soon  as  possible  he 
set  out  for  the  nearest  ranch  owned  by  John  Edwards  and 
there  found  that  Dave  Walton,  at  that  time  sheriff  of  Bee 
county,  had  the  day  before  tried  to  arrest  the  same  parties 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


243 


for  like  depredations.  Edwards  joined  him  and  later  a posse 
composed  of  Ed  and  Tom  Lasater,  the  Coker  boys  and  a 
number  of  others  surrounded  the  house  of  the  bandits,  but 
found  that  they  had  moved  on.  This  raid  and  its  subse- 
quent excitement  led  to  the  acquaintance  of  Doss  and  Gar- 
rett Van  Meter  and  their  widowed  mother,  Mrs.  E.  V.  Van 
Meter,  of  that  place. 

It  was  in  the  later  years  to  their  home  and  its  associa- 
tions that  Mr.  Gibson  looks  back,  as  being  one  of  the  very 
brightest  spots  in  the  memory  of  his  young  manhood. 

The  following  spring,  however,  being  unable  to  resist  the 
tinkle  of  the  old  bell-mare,  Mr.  Gibson  made  the  second 
trip  up  the  trail,  this  time  with  Nance  and  Mitchell  driving 
cattle.  He  pointed  herd  all  the  way,  with  a boy  by  the 
name  of  John  Williams,  guarding  the  opposite  point.  They 
had  a great  deal  of  rain  and  hail  during  this  trip  and  one 
day  as  they  were  passing  through  the  Indian  country  near 
the  Wichita  Mountains,  a funny  incident  took  place. 

A bunch  of  Indians  rode  up  behind  Mr.  Gibson  and 
grunted  in  their  Indian  fashion,  “How  John?”  and  after 
lingering  a while  asked  such  questions  as,  “No  cara  swap 
horses?”  “Dimme  Cartuches”  and  “Unde  Campo?”  went 
over  to  Williams  and  hailed  him  by  “How  John!”  As 
soon  as  they  rode  away  Williams  came  over  and  said  “Jim 
those  d — ned  Indians  know  me,”  and  when  Mr.  Gibson  ex- 
pressed surprise  and  asked  where  he  had  met  them,  said 
“I  never  seen  the  d — d fools  before  but  they  called  me 
John.”  Later  this  circumstance  was  related  in  camp  to 
the  old  trail  hands,  who  whooped  and  yelled  and  seemed 
to  consider  it  a good  joke  and  when  they  had  quieted 
enough  so  as  to  be  understood,  told  them  that  Indians  sa- 
luted all  white  men  by,  “How  John!” 

The  next  year  Mr.  Gibson’s  work  was  with  the  Boyce 
Bros.,  and  as  soon  as  the  grass  was  green  they  proceeded 
to  Cuero,  there  to  procure  the  outfit  for  the  trail.  This  con- 
sisted of  wagons,  harness,  saddles,  etc.,  and  were  bought 
from  John  Stratton,  who  at  that  time  had  the  largest  out- 
fitting store  in  this  part  of  the  country. 


244 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


The  trip  was  with  horses,  some  five  hundred  head  of  which 
had  been  bought  from  Ed  Corkill  of  Conception.  These 
horses  were  delivered  at  Dodge  City,  Kansas,  going  by  way 
of  San  Antonio,  Kerrville,  Coleman  City,  Vernon  and  Doan’s 
Store,  an  Indian  trading  store  on  Red  River.  There  the 
trails  forked,  one  going  by  Mobeetie  and  the  other  by  the 
Wichita  Mountains.  The  delivery  of  horses  took  three 
months,  while  that  of  cattle  took  four. 

It  was  on  this  trip  one  night  that  a severe  thunder  storm 
came  up.  The  horses  had  been  turned  loose  on  the  table- 
land when  just  before  the  storm  started  a deer  jumped  up 
in  front  of  the  herd  and  caused  them  to  stampede.  They 
ran  directly  by  camp  causing  the  remuda  to  join  them  and, 
as  they  had  not  been  hobbled  for  the  night,  came  near 
leaving  the  cowboys  all  afoot,  the  remuda  man’s  horse  be- 
ing the  only  one  staked.  And  as  one  of  the  boys  ran  to 
mount  him,  he  catching  the  contagion  of  fright  pulled  up 
his  stake  and  went  rushing  by  camp.  The  negro  cook,  tak- 
ing in  the  seriousness  of  the  situation,  grabbed  the  rope  and 
went  bumping  along  for  about  a hundred  yards  before  he 
could  stop  him.  He  then  mounted  and  assisted  in  trying  to 
stop  the  herd  that  had  by  this  time  crossed  the  creek.  The 
storm,  however,  growing  in  intensity  compelled  an  early 
return  to  camp,  with  only  a few  saddle  horses. 

Every  one  spent  a very  restless  night  confronted  with  the 
thought  that  these  few  horses  constituted  their  all  and  that 
it  was  two  hundred  miles  to  the  nearest  pasture  fence  south, 
and  all  stampeded  horses  on  the  trail  go  back  south  to- 
wards Texas. 

Daylight  found  them  in  their  saddles  eagerly  searching 
for  tracks  and  after  two  days’  hunting  found  all  but  three 
head.  The  following  spring,  however,  Jim  Mussett,  a friend 
found  the  three  missing  horses  in  the  general  round  up 
with  the  Indians  and  after  selling  them  sent  the  money  to 
the  owners.  This  was  considered  a very  lucky  stampede. 

Mr.  Gibson  made  eight  trips  with  horses.  Horses  in  those 
days  were  driven  by  the  thousands  and  sold  to  early  settlers 
in  job  lots  in  Western  Kansas  and  Nebraska. 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


245 


Jim  Dobie,  Frank  Byler  and  Boyce  Bros,  were  among 
some  of  the  most  important  horse  trail  drivers.  When  ap- 
plying to  any  of  the  above  mentioned  men  for  a trail  job, 
it  was  useless  to  ask  what  horse  one  might  ride,  for  the 
reply  would  invariably  be  “Throw  your  rope  and  whatever 
it  falls  on,  fork  him.”  On  one  of  these  trips  a laughable 
thing  took  place.  The  cook  had  quit  for  the  good  reason 
that  his  pay  had  stopped  and  that  necessitated  the  finding 
of  another.  A young  man  just  arrived  from  the  east  was 
chosen  for  this  position.  After  he  had  convinced  the  boys 
that  although  he  was'  no  expert  cook,  he  could  boil  water 
without  burning  it,  the  boss  told  him  to  cook  for  din- 
ner, red  beans,  bacon,  coffee  and  dried  apples.  The  cook 
not  knowing  the  habit  of  apples,  filled  the  pot  full  and 
covered  them  with  water.  When  they  began  to  swell,  the 
pot  began  to  overflow  and  it  was  a funny  sight  witnessed 
by  one  of  the  boys  in  passing  to  see  the  tenderfoot  fran- 
tically digging  a hole  in  the  sand  and  burying  the  surplus 
supply.  At  first  the  coffee  was  all  grounds,  the  bread  like 
leather  and  the  beans  rattled  down  one’s  throat,  but  be- 
ing a persevering  kind  of  a fellow  by  the  next  round  up 
he  had  become  a really  good  cook. 

One  year  the  outfit  had  a mascot  in  the  form  of  a little 
rooster  that  had  been  presented  by  Ben  Jones  of  Oakville, 
now  deceased,  to  Mr.  Gibson.  It  was  a source  of  pleasure 
and  amusement  to  the  whole  camp,  and  the  Indians  en  route 
were  astonished  to  see  a chicken  with  a cow  outfit,  so  far 
from  civilization.  His  early  morning  crowing  brought  no  re- 
sponse, as  the  nearest  ranch  was  over  two  hundred  miles 
away.  He  had  the  misfortune  once  to  hang  by  one  foot  all 
night  from  the  hound  of  the  wagon,  his  roost.  A storm 
coming  up  during  the  night  had  blown  him  off  and  when 
morning  came  he  looked  as  if  he  had  been  to  an  Irish  wake. 
He  was  tenderly  cared  for  by  the  boys  and  the  cook  and 
before  long  was  his  normal  bright  self  again,  making  the 
trip  to  Dodge  City  and  back  to  Cuero  with  the  cook. 

Mr.  Gibson’s  last  trip  was  with  horses  in  1888,  and  he 
found  it  very  difficult  to  get  through  as  the  man  with  the 
hoe  had  taken  the  country,  and  the  old  trail  had  all  been 


246 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


fenced  up,  so  the  drive  overland  from  Texas  to  Kansas  was 
over  and  the  cattle  then  as  now  must  be  routed  by  way 
of  the  iron  horse. 

It  has  been  in  this  manner  for  the  past  twelve  years,  hav- 
ing holdings  in  two  ranches,  that  Mr.  Gibson,  in  partnership 
with  Richard  King,  Jr.,  grandson  of  Mrs.  H.  M.  King  of 
Santa  Gertrudes  Ranch,  has  conducted  his  cattle  business 
and  still  classes  himself  as  “one  of  the  cowboys.” 


AN  INDIAN  BATTLE  NEAR  THE  LEONA  RIVER. 

By  L.  A.  Franks,  of  Pleasanton,  Texas. 

In  1865  occurred  one  of  those  sad  frontier  tragedies, 
where  the  settlers  were  unable  to  sustain  themselves  in  an 
Indian  battle,  and  wives  and  mothers  were  made  to  mourn 
for  loved  ones  who  never  returned  except  as  mangled  or 
inanimate  bodies.  This  noted  fight  occurred  on  the  4th 
day  of  July  in  the  above  named  year  near  the  mouth  of 
the  Leona  River  in  Frio  county.  The  settlers  in  the  vi- 
cinity at  that  time  were  the  Martins,  Odens,  Franks,  Ben- 
netts, Hays,  Parks,  Levi  English  and  Ed  Burleson.  These 
were  all  in  what  was  known  as  the  Martin  settlement. 

On  the  morning  in  question  Ed  Burleson  went  out  a 
short  idstance  from  his  ranch  to  drive  up  some  horses. 
He  was  unarmed  and  riding  a slow  horse.  Suddenly  and 
unexpectedly  to  him  he  was  attacked  by  two  Indians  who 
ran  him  very  close,  one  on  foot  and  the  other  mounted. 
The  one  on  foot  outran  the  horseman  and  came  near  catch- 
ing Burleson  but  he  ran  through  a thicket  and  coming  out 
on  the  side  next  his  ranch  arrived  there  safely.  Quite  a lot 
of  people  had  collected  at  his  house,  men,  women  and  chil- 
dren, to  celebrate  the  Fourth  and  wind  up  with  a dance.  Ere 
the  sun  went  down  on  that  day,  however,  the  festivities 
were  changed  into  mourning.  Instead  of  the  gay  tramp  and 
joyous  laughter  of  the  dancers,  wailing  and  the  slow  tread 
of  a funeral  procession  was  heard.  Excitement  ran  high 
when  Burleson  dashed  in  and  gave  the  alarm.  Most  of  the 
men  mounted  in  haste  to  go  in  pursuit  and  others  were  noti- 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


247 


DILLARD  R.  FANT 


248 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


fied.  When  all  the  men  had  congregated  who  could  be 
gotten  together  on  short  notice,  they  numbered  eleven  and 
were  as  follows:  Levi  English,  L.  A.  Franks,  G.  W.  Daugh- 
erty, Ed  Burleson,  W.  C.  Bell,  Frank  Williams,  Dean  Oden, 
Bud  English,  Dan  Williams,  John  Berry  and  Mr.  Aikens.  Levi 
English  being  the  oldest  man  in  the  party  and  experienced 
to  some  extent  in  fighting  Indians,  was  chosen  captain.  When 
the  main  trail  was  struck,  the  Indians  were  found  to  be  in 
large  force,  and  going  down  the  Leona  river.  They  crossed 
this  stream  near  Bennett’s  ranch  four  miles  from  Burleson’s. 
They  then  went  out  into  the  open  prairie  in  front  of  Mar- 
tin’s ranch  ten  miles  further  on.  The  settlers  first  came  in 
sight  of  them  two  miles  off,  but  they  went  down  into  a 
valley  and  were  lost  to  sight  for  some  time.  Suddenly,  how- 
ever, they  came  in  view  again  not  more  than  two  hundred 
yards  away.  There  were  thirty-six  Indians  mounted  two  and 
two  on  a horse.  The  Indians  now  discovered  the  white 
men  for  the  first  time  and  at  once  commenced  a retreat. 
The  white  men  were  all  brave  frontiersmen  and  made  a 
reckless  and  impetuous  charge  and  began  firing  too  soon. 
The  Indians  ran  nearly  a mile  and  thinking  likely  they  had 
well  nigh  drawn  the  fire  of  the  settlers,  checked  their  flight 
at  a lone  tree,  at  a signal  from  their  chief,  and  each  Indian 
who  was  mounted  behind  another  jumped  to  the  ground 
and  came  back  at  a charge,  and  for  the  first  time  com- 
menced shooting.  The  mounted  ones  circled  to  right  and 
left  and  sent  a shower  of  arrows  and  bullets.  Some  of  the 
Indians  went  entirely  around  the  white  men  and  a desperate 
battle  at  close  quarters  ensued.  The  red  men  had  the  ad- 
vantage of  the  whites  in  point  of  numbers  and  shots.  The 
latter  having  nearly  exhausted  their  shots  at  long  range, 
had  no  time  to  reload  a cap  and  ball  pistol  or  gun  in  such 
a fight  as  was  now  being  inaugurated.  Captain  English  in 
vain  gave  orders  during  the  mad  charge,  trying  to  hold  the 
boys  back  and  keep  them  out  of  the  deadly  circle  in  which 
they  finally  went.  Dan  Williams  was  the  first  man  killed, 
and  when  he  fell  from  his  horse  was  at  once  surrounded  by 
the  Indians.  English  now  rallied  the  men  together  and 
charged  to  the  body  of  Williams,  and  after  a hot  fight  drove 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


249 


them  back,  but  in  so  doing  fired  their  last  loads.  The  In- 
dians were  quick  to  see  this,  and  came  back  at  them  again, 
and  a retreat  was  ordered.  Frank  Williams,  brother  to  Dan, 
now  dismounted  by  the  side  of  his  dying  brother  and  asked 
if  there  was  anything  he  could  do  for  him,  and  expressed  a 
willingness  to  stay  with  him.  “No,”  said  the  stricken  man, 
handing  Frank  his  pistol,  “take  this  and  do  the  best  you 
can — I am  killed — cannot  live  ten  minutes.  Save  yourself.” 
The  men  were  even  now  wheeling  their  horses  and  leaving 
the  ground,  and  Frank  only  mounted  and  left  when  the 
Indians  were  close  upon  him.  The  Comanches  came  after 
them  yelling  furiously,  and  a panic  ensued. 

Dean  Oden  was  the  next  man  to  fall  a victim.  His  horse 
was  wounded  and  began  to  pitch  and  the  Indians  were  soon 
upon  him.  He  dismounted  and  was  wounded  in  the  leg, 
and  attempted  to  remount  again,  but  was  wounded  six 
times  more  in  the  breast  and  back,  as  the  Indians  were  on 
all  sides  of  him.  Aus  Franks  was  near  him  trying  to  force 
his  way  out,  and  the  last  he  saw  of  Oden  he  was  down  on 
to  his  knees  and  his  horse  gone.  The  next  and  last  man 
killed  was  Bud  English,  son  of  the  late  captain.  His  father 
stayed  by  his  body  until  all  hope  was  gone  and  all  the  men 
scattering  away.  The  Indians  pursued  with  a fierce  ven- 

geance, mixing  in  with  the  whites  and  many  personal  com- 
bats took  place,  the  settlers  striking  at  the  Indians  with 
their  unloaded  guns  and  pistols.  In  this  fight  all  the  bal- 
ance of  the  men  were  wounded  except  Franks,  Berry  and 
Frank  Williams.  Captain  English  was  badly  wounded  in 

the  side  with  an  errow;  G.  W.  Daugherty  was  hit  in  the 

leg  with  an  arrow;  Ed  Burleson  also  in  the  leg;  Aikens  in 

the  breast;  and  W.  C.  Bell  in  the  side.  In  this  wounded  and 
scattered  condition  the  men  went  back  to  the  ranch  and 

told  the  news  of  their  sad  defeat.  Other  men  were  col- 

lected and  returned  to  the  battleground  to  bring  away  the 
dead,  led  by  those  who  participated  but  escaped  unhurt.  The 
three  bodies  lay  within  a hundred  yards  of  each  other  and 
were  badly  mutilated.  The  Indians  carried  away  their  dead, 
how  many  was  not  known,  but  supposed  to  be  but  few,  on 
account  of  the  reckless  firing  of  the  men  at  the  beginning  of 


250 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


the  fight.  Bud  English  was  killed  by  a bullet  in  the  breast, 
and  there  was  also  one  arrow  or  lance  wound  in  the  breast. 
The  head  of  Dan  Williams  was  nearly  severed  from  the 
body,  necessitating  a close  wrapping  in  a blanket  to  keep 
the  members  together  while  being  carried  back.  Oden  and 
Williams  were  brothers-in-law,  and  were  both  buried  in 
the  same  box.  Eight  out  of  eleven  were  killed  or  wounded. 

This  is  a very  good  description  of  the  early  day  life  in 
Texas. 


JACK  POTTER,  THE  “FIGHTING  PARSON.” 

Written  by  John  Warren  Hunter. 

No  name  was  more  familiarly  known  thirty-five  years  ago 
in  West  Texas  than  that  of  Andrew  Jackson  Potter,  the 
“Fighting  Parson.”  His  name  was  a household  word  from 
the  Panhandle  to  the  Gulf;  from  the  Colorado  to  the  Rio 
Grande  and  the  stories  of  his  wit,  prowess  and  adventures 
were  sent  abroad  in  the  nation  by  press  and  pulpit.  While 
the  question  of  frontier  protection  was  being  considered  in 
the  United  States  Congress  in  1872,  a Texas  member  said  in 
his  speech:  “Remove  your  regulars  from  the  garrison  on 

the  Texas  border;  commission  Jack  Potter,  a reclaimed  des- 
perado and  now  a Methodist  preacher  and  Indian  fighter, 
instruct  him  to  choose  and  organize  one  hundred  men  and 
Indian  depredations  along  the  Texas  border  will  cease.” 

A.  J.  Potter  was  born  in  Charlton  county,  Missouri,  April 
3,  1830,  and  was  one  of  seven  children — four  boys  and  three 
girls — Andrew  being  the  third  son.  His  father,  Joshua  Pot- 
ter, was  one  of  those  rugged  Kentucky  marksmen  who  stood 
behind  the  breastworks  at  New  Orleans,  January  8,  1815,  and 
helped  defeat  the  flower  of  the  British  army  under  Pack- 
enham.  It  was  on  account  of  his  love  and  veneration  for 
“Old  Hickory”  that  he  named  his  son  Andrew  Jackson.  While 
quite  young,  the  boy’s  father  moved  to  Grand  River  near 
Clinton  where  the  lad  spent  his  boyhood.  Clinton  was  at  that 
time  a border  county  and  educational  facilities  were  very  lim- 
ited. Three  months  in  school  covered  the  entire  period  of 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


251 


Andy’s  scholastic  experience  and  during  this  time  he  learned 
to  read  after  a fashion  but  did  not  acquire  the  art  of  writing. 

At  the  age  of  ten,  Andrew  was  an  orphan,  without  home, 
friends  or  heritage  and  became  a race  rider,  and  his  skill, 
courage  and  daring  soon  won  the  high  regard  of  his  em- 
ployer to  the  extent  that  he  taught  him  to  write,  play  cards 
and  shoot  straight;  three  of  the  most  imporant  branches  of 
a frontierman’s  education  during  those  early  days.  For  six 
years  Andrew  followed  the  occupation  of  race  rider,  his  daily 
associates  being  jockeys,  gamblers,  drunkards  and  blasphe- 
mers— six  years  of  perilous  paths  that  led  over  hills,  moun- 
tains and  deserts  from  St.  Louis  to  Santa  Fe.  In  1846  when 
hostilities  broke  out  between  the  United  States  and  Mexico, 
Mr.  Potter  then  being  16  years  of  age,  enlisted  in  Capt. 
Slack’s  company  of  volunteers  and  under  command  of  Gen- 
eral Sterling  Price  took  up  the  line  of  march  for  Santa  Fe, 
New  Mexico.  A few  days  march  demonstrated  the  fact  that  An- 
drew was  too  small  to  carry  a haversack  and  musket  and  en- 
dure the  fatigue  of  a soldier;  he  was  detailed  as  teamster 
where  he  learned  his  first  lesson  in  driving  oxen. 

The  expedition  left  Leavenworth,  Kansas,  in  September, 
1846,  and  the  route  led  up  the  Arkansas.  Before  reaching 
Bent’s  Fort  the  entire  train  of  40  wagons  was  captured  by 
the  Cheyenne  Indians.  Not  apprehending  danger,  it  seems 
the  main  body  of  troops  had  passed  on  far  in  advance,  leav- 
ing the  train  without  an  escort.  Under  the  cloak  of  friend- 
ship, two  Indians  came  into  the  camp  early  in  the  morning 
and  were  given  food  and  remained.  When  the  train  moved 
out,  two  others  came  up;  other  squads  joined  them  and  then 
still  larger  bands,  then  three  hundred  savages  rushed  upon 
the  teamsters.  No  attempt  at  violence  was  made  by  the  In- 
dians. The  chief  gave  the  wagon  master  to  understand  that 
he  only  wanted  provisions,  not  scalps,  and  if  he  had  to  fight 
to  obtain  the  provisions  he’d  take  scalps  also.  The  wagon 
master  agreed  to  give  him  a certain  amount  of  provisions  and 
while  this  was  being  given  out  a cloud  of  dust  was  seen  ris- 
ing far  in  the  rear  and  the  teamsters  shouted,  “Soldiers!  the 
soldiers  are  coming!”  Seizing  their  plunder,  the  Indians 


252 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


mounted  and  fled.  The  cloud  of  dust  was  caused  by  an  ap- 
proaching wagon  train. 

At  Bent’s  Fort,  young  Potter  was  seized  with  an  attack  of 
“camp  fever”  and  it  was  thought  necessary  to  leave  him  at 
that  post  but  his  wagon  master  who  had  become  greatly  at- 
tached to  the  lad  made  arrangements  to  take  him  along.  It 
was  yet  three  hundred  miles  to  Santa  Fe,  winter  was  at  hand 
and  the  Raton  mountains  were  before  them.  After  enduring- 
untold  hardships,  they  reached  Santa  Fe  in  January, 
1847.  For  five  years  young  Potter  remained  with  the  army 
in  that  region,  operating  in  New  Mexico  and  Arizona,  fight- 
ing, trailing  and  routing  the  vengeful  Apaches  and  other  dan- 
gerous tribes.  It  was  during  this  period  that  he  became  an 
adept  in  all  the  arts  of  Indian  warfare.  He  was  an  apt  stu- 
dent in  their  school  of  cunning  and  strategy.  Mr.  Potter 
leaves  on  record  his  impressions  made  by  the  sufferings  of 
Price’s  men  in  the  hospital  at  Santa  Fe.  He  says: 

“In  the  latter  part  of  1847,  I was  employed  as  a nurse 
in  the  hospital  at  Santa  Fe.  On  entering  that  place  1 saw  an 
affecting  scene;  a large  number  of  men  sick  of  scurvy, 
meales  and  pneumonia,  were  lying  on  narrow  bunks  so  closely 
crowded  together  that  there  was  just  room  to  pass  between 
them.  My  time  of  nursing  came  on  in  the  first  part  of  the 
night  and  it  was  an  awful  half  night  to  me.  Many  of  the 
sufferers  in  their  fevered  delirium,  would  rise  up  and  gather 
their  blankets,  saying  they  were  going  home.  By  the  time  I 
would  get  them  quieted,  others  would  be  crying  out:  “Good- 
bye! I am  going  home!”  at  the  same  time  making  efforts 
to  get  up.  Never  shall  I forget  those  dreary  half  nights  I 
spent  there  with  the  dead  and  dying.  O,  the  sweet  thoughts 
of  home,  sweet  home!  They  came  as  a dream  charm  over 
the  fevered  brain  when  visions  of  wife,  babes  and  loved  ones 
at  home  entered  the  mind. 

“At  length  a train  set  out  for  Fort  Leavenworth,  to  carry 
home  all  the  sick  who  were  able  to  stand  the  trip  across 
the  plains.  I was  one  of  the  attendants.  As  our  ox  teams 
slowly  moved  up  the  hill,  I took  my  last  lingering  look  at  the 
old  adobe  town  of  Santa  Fe,  with  eyes  dimmed  by  unshed 
tears,  as  I gazed  for  the  last  time  on  the  graves  of  so  many 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


253 


brave  soldiers  who  lay  side  by  side  on  the  tomb  covered  hill 
beyond,  not  to  arise  until  Death’s  long  reign  is  passed.  Many 
of  our  sick  died  in  the  great  wilderness  and  we  rolled  them 
up  in  their  blankets  and  hid  them  in  earth’s  cold  clay  at  in- 
tervals in  our  long  journey  from  Santa  Fe  to  Fort  Leaven- 
worth. Their  unmarked  graves  are  in  the  unsettled  wilds 
of  Nature’s  solitude.  Friends  and  dear  ones  at  home  know 
not  the  place  of  their  rest.  When  we  wrapped  their  cold 
bodies  in  their  soldier  shrouds  and  shaped  the  grave  mound 
over  them,  the  hardy  soldier  would  perchance  moisten  the 
earthen  monument  with  a pitying  tear.  To  me  it  was  a ter- 
ribly gloomy  thought  to  leave  them  alone  in  savage  lands,  to 
be  trodden  under  foot  by  the  wild,  roving  bands  of  Nature’s 
untamed  children  in  their  merry  dances  over  the  dust  of  their 
vanquished  foes.” 

After  six  years  service  as  a soldier,  Mr.  Potter  came  to 
Texas,  reaching  San  Antonio  in  1852  and  from  there  he 
went  to  visit  a brother  then  living  on  York’s  creek  in  Hays 
county.  Shortly  after  his  arrival  at  his  brother’s  he  was 
stricken  with  typhoid  fever  and  came  near  dying.  When  he 
recovered  he  found  himself  penniless  and  a big  doctor’s  bill 
to  pay.  His  first  employment  was  driving  an  ox  team  at  $15 
a month,  hauling  lumber  from  Bastrop  county  to  San  Mar- 
cos and  by  saving  up  his  wages  he  was  soon  able  to  pay  off 
all  indebtedness.  About  this  time  Rev.  I.  G.  John,  a Metho- 
dist preacher  came  along  and  filled  an  appointment  on  York’s 
creek.  Potter  went  out  to  hear  him  more  for  the  novelty  of 
the  meeting  and  a spirit  of  curiosity.  The  text,  “Who  is  the 
wise  man  ? ” pierced  his  soul,  and  from  that  day  he  became  a 
regular  attendant  at  preaching,  even  denying  himself  the 
pleasures  of  a Sunday  race  in  order  to  hear  Rev.  John  preach. 

John  preached  at  a great  religious  revival  held  at  Croft’s 
Prairie,  in  1856.  Mr.  Potter  was  converted,  joined  the 
church  and  the  horse-racer,  gambler  and  saloon  keeper  tough 
was  completely  transformed  and  became  one  of  the  most 
useful  men  West  Texas  ever  knew. 

The  new  life  inspired  Mr.  Potter  with  a desire  to  learn  and 
he  became  a devoted  bible  reader.  He  learned  to  write,  and 
soon  began  to  preach.  In  1859,  he  sold  out  in  Bastrop  coun- 


254 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


ty,  and  located  on  a place  nine  miles  east  of  Lockhart,  where 
he  was  licensed  to  preach  and  from  there  began  his  won- 
derful career  as  an  itinerant  preacher. 

In  1861  he  was  seized  with  a desire  to  visit  the  old  home 
in  Missouri  but  had  no  molney  to  defray  the  expenses  of  the 
journey.  Mr.  Miller,  of  Lockhart,  was  getting  ready  to  start 
a herd  of  cattle  to  Kansas.  Mr.  Potter  hired  to  him  as  a 
herder  and  after  47  days’  travel,  reached  a point  100  miles 
from  the  home  of  his  boyhood,  which  he  traversed  in  a few 
days.  His  sister  only  remained  to  greet  him  and  those  who 
had  known  him  as  the  reckless  race-rider  and  gambler  were 
astounded  to  learn  that  Andy  Potter  had  come  to  life  and  was 
a preacher!  He  preached  to  a great  concourse  the  Sunday 
following  his  arrival,  and  this  was  the  beginning  of  a great 
revival  that  continued  three  months. 

In  February,  1862,  Mr.  Potter  enlisted  as  a private  in  Capt. 
Stoke  Home’s  Company  at  Prairie  Lee.  This  company  was 
assigned  to  Wood’s  regiment,  Thirty-Second  Texas  cavalry. 
The  command  was  first  stationed  at  Val  Verde,  Kerr  coun- 
ty, and  later  near  San  Antonio,  where  Rev.  Potter  was  ap- 
pointed chaplain  of  DeBray’s  regiment.  From  San  Antonio 
the  command  went  to  Brownsville,  where  the  fighting  parson 
whipped  the  editor  of  the  local  paper  for  having  published 
what  Potter  conceived  to  be  a libel  on  his  regiment,  and 
was  on  the  eve  of  throwing  the  printing  plant  into  the  river, 
but  was  prevented  by  General  Bee. 

Mr.  Potter  was  in  all  of  the  battles  of  the  Red  River  cam- 
paign in  1864,  one  of  unspeakable  hardships  to  the  soldiers 
of  the  Confederacy  — hunger,  sickness,  toils,  battle-strife, 
death.  Bread,  sugar  and  berries  were  the  chief  articles  of 
food.  The  good  chaplain  shared  all  these  hardships  with  the 
common  soldiers,  passing  through  all  the  daily  drills  and 
marches,  preaching,  praying  and  exhorting  the  men. 

When  in  battle  array  and  ready  for  the  order  to  advance, 
Chaplain  Potter  could  be  seen  with  hat  in  one  hand  and  bible 
in  the  other,  walking  back  and  forth  in  front  of  his  regiment 
exhorting  the  men  to  repentance.  “Boys  some  of  you  may 
fall  in  this  battle,”  he  would  say:  “in  a few  minutes  you  may 
be  called  to  meet  your  maker.  Repent  now  and  give  your 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


255 


heart  to  Christ.  He  is  waiting  to  receive  you.  O,  men  it’s  a 
solemn  moment!  You  are  facing  death  and  eternity!”  And 
when  the  order  “forward”  was  given,  Mr.  Potter  seized  a 
musket,  fell  in  rank  and  fought  side  by  side  with  his  men. 
At  the  close  of  battle  Potter  seemed  endowed  with  the  power 
of  ubiquity.  Everywhere,  praying  with  the  dying,  adminis- 
tering to  the  wounded,  writing  last  messages  to  friends  at 
home,  day  and  night,  scarcely  pausing  to  take  food  or  rest. 
This  is  the  testimony  of  his  comrades,  many  of  whom  are  yet 
living  who  will  confirm  the  statement. 

In  the  fall  of  1865,  Mr.  Potter  was  appointed  as  a supply 
to  the  Prairie  Lee  circuit  and  at  the  annual  conference  held 
at  Seguin  in  the  fall  of  1867,  he  was  sent  to  the  mountain 
frontier  and  took  station  at  Kerrville.  This  threw  him  in 
the  region  where,  on  each  light  moon  the  Indian  left  his 
trail  of  blood  along  some  mountain  side  or  valley.  But  the 
Comanche  yell  had  no  terrors  for  Potter;  he  had  heard  it  be- 
fore and  had  been  schooled  in  all  their  wiles  and  methods. 
In  1868,  Mr.  Potter  bought  a place  near  Boerne  and  moved 
his  family  to  it.  In  1871,  he  was  sent  to  the  Uvalde  circuit, 
which  bordered  on  the  Rio  Grande,  where  Indians  could  cross 
any  day,  and  their  depredations,  killing  and  stealing,  were 
almost  of  daily  occurrence.  Uvalde,  at  that  time  was  known 
as  one  of  the  wickedest  places  on  the  border  and  had  never 
before  had  preaching.  In  addition  to  his  ministerial  work, 
Mr.  Potter  had  been  appointed  colporteur  and  over  this  vast 
territory  he  distributed  among  rich  and  poor  alike  a great 
number  of  bibles. 

During  the  first  year  of  his  work  in  the  mountain  region, 
the  Indians  made  a raid  on  Curry’s  creek.  Dr.  Nowlin  an 
old  frontiersman  knew  the  Indians  were  in  the  country  and 
stationed  two  men  in  his  corn  crib  to  guard  his  horses  which 
were  loose  in  the  lot.  The  moon  was  at  its  full  and 
along  about  midnight  two  Indians  were  seen  to  stealthily  ap- 
proach, and  as  they  began  to  let  down  the  lot  fence,  one  of 
the  men  in  the  crib  took  good  aim  and  fired,  killing  the  In- 
dian in  his  tracks;  the  other  man  was  so  scared  he  could  not 
shoot  and  the  other  Indian  got  away. 


256 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


While  on  his  rounds  in  the  Uvalde  work,  on  the  road 
between  the  Frio  and  Sabinal  Canyon,  Mr.  Potter  met  a 
squad  of  four  Indians.  He  was  traveling  in  an  ambulance 
drawn  by  two  small  Spanish  mules  and  while  passing  through 
a lonely  defile  in  the  mountains  he  came  up  almost  face 
to  face  with  these  four  redskins.  He  saw  there  was  going  to 
be  a fight  and  seizing  his  winchester,  he  leaped  out  of  his 
ambulance  and  securely  tied  his  mules  to  a sappling  and 
then  under  cover  of  a thicket  he  reached  a slight  elevation, 
where  he  could  better  command  a full  view  of  the  enemy. 
Getting  in  a good  position,  the  parson  took  good  aim  and 
pulled  the  trigger,  but  the  gun  failed  to  fire  and  the  “click” 
of  the  hammer  revealed  his  whereabouts.  Two  Indians  had 
citizen  rifles  and  blazed  away  at  him,  but  without  effect.  The 
parson  fired  at  the  same  instant  wounding  one  of  the  Indians 
and  knocking  the  gun  out  of  his  hands.  The  wounded  Indian 
was  taken  up  by  his  comrades  and  carried  off. 

Potter  might  have  killed  all  four  before  they  got  out  of 
reach  but  he  was  afraid  to  risk  his  cartridges,  as  they  had  been 
on  hand  some  time.  Returning  to  his  ambulance,  he  drove 
off  some  distance  from  the  road  and  came  to  the  foot  of  a 
mountain  and  drove  into  a dense  thicket.  He  knew  there 
were  more  than  four  Indians  around,  and  that  they  were  like- 
ly to  lay  in  ambush  somewhere  ahead.  When  he  had  secured 
his  team  in  the  thicket  he  carefully  cleaned  his  gun,  selected 
the  best  cartridges,  got  his  pistol  in  fighting  trim,  and  began 
to  look  around.  He  discovered  two  Indians  watching  for  him 
from  the  summit  of  the  hill  above  him  and  when  they  saw 
that  he  had  seen  them,  they  blazed  away  but  missed  their 
mark.  Mr.  Potter  pumped  several  shots  at  them  as  they 
scampered  over  the  hill  out  of  sight.  He  then  re-entered  his 
vehicle  and  drove  away  without  seeing  that  bunch  of  red- 
skins again. 

One  instance  out  of  many,  will  give  the  reader  an  idea  of 
the  person,  the  men  and  the  times  of  which  we  write.  While 
on  this  frontier  work,  late  one  evening  he  reached  a military 
outpost.  It  might  have  been  Fort  Clark.  The  soldiers  had 
just  been  paid  off  and  the  little  village  near  the  post  was 
crowded  with  gamblers,  sharpers,  crooks  and  other  disreput- 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


257 


able  characters.  Many  of  these  knew  Mr.  Potter  and  when 
he  rode  up,  they  set  up  a shout;  “Here  comes  the  fighting 
parson!”  “Hold  up  there  old  pardner!”  “can’t  ye  give  us  a 
gospel  song  an’  dance  tonight?  ” When  told  he  would  preach 
to  them  if  they  would  provide  a place,  one  sang  out;  “Sure, 
Parson,  we’ll  make  way  for  ye,  if  we  have  to  rent  the  sa- 
loon!” A saloon  gallery  was  provided  with  rude  seats,  kegs, 
barrels  and  a few  chairs  from  dwellings  nearby,  and  as  the 
word  had  gone  abroad  that  a strange  preacher  was  in  town, 
people  began  to  assemble  early.  One  man  who  was  the 
worse  for  drink,  insisted  on  acting  the  part  of  usher  and  town 
cryer.  He  mounted  a barrel  and  for  some  time  kept  up  the 
cry,  “O  yes.  O yes,  O yes!  There  is  going  to  be  some  hell- 
fired  racket  here,  right  here  on  this  gallery,  by  fightin’  Parson 
Potter,  a reformed  gambler,  but  now  a regular  gospel  shark. 
The  jig  will  begin  now  in  fifteen  minutes,  and  you  old  whis- 
key soaks  and  card  sharpers,  come  over  and  learn  how  to 
mend  your  ways,  or  the  devil  will  get  you  quicker’n  hell  can 
scorch  a feather.” 

A great  crowd  assembled — one  of  the  hardest  looking  sets 
of  human  beings  Potter  had  ever  preached  to  but  they  kept 
good  order  and  when  service  concluded  they  wanted  to  “set 
’em  up”  to  the  parson,  but  when  he  declined  that  mark  of 
their  respect  they  passed  an  empty  cigar  box  and  all  “chipped 
in.”  He  preached  the  next  day  and  was  pressed  by  those  rude 
western  men  to  come  again  and  come  often. 

In  1878  or  ’79  Mr.  Potter  began  his  labors  at  Fort  Concho. 
San  Angelo  was  a small  frontier  village  and  like  all  post 
towns  along  the  border  had  a record  not  the  best  along  the 
lines  of  morality.  The  saloons  and  gambling  halls  were  pop- 
ular resorts.  They  were  open  day  and  night,  and  every  man 
went  heavily  armed.  Mr.  Potter  visited  the  families,  preached 
to  the  gamblers,  soldiers  and  plainsmen. 

In  1883  Mr.  Potter  moved  his  family  to  San  Angelo,  but 
continued  his  ministerial  work  wherever  assigned. 

in  1894  he  was  sent  to  the  Lockhart  circuit.  Here  it  was 
on  this  same  circuit  that  he  began  his  ministry.  On  Oc- 
tober 21,  1895,  he  preached  his  last  sermon  prior  to  going 
to  conference.  It  was  the  close  of  his  year’s  work,  and 


258 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


proved  to  be  the  closing  scene  of  his  life  work.  This  was 
at  Tilden,  and  while  delivering  his  peroration  with  uplifted 
hands  with  the  words,  “I  believe,”  he  fell  in  the  pulpit  and 
when  tender  hands  lifted  the  limp  form  the  great  soul  had 
gone  home  to  the  Father  who  gave  it.  To  the  writer  who 
knew  him  and  loved  him  as  a brother  for  many  years  he  had 
expressed  a wish  to  die  in  harness,  in  the  pulpit. 

As  has  been  stated,  no  man  who  ever  lived  in  Southwest 
Texas  was  more  widely  known  than  A.  J.  Potter.  That  he 
acquired  the  title  of  the  “fighting  parson”  was  in  no  wise 
derogatory  to  his  character  as  a man,  a Christian  gentle- 
man or  a preacher.  He  was  a man  absolutely  without  fear. 
He  was  never  the  aggressor  and  when  a difficulty  was  forced 
upon  him  he  always  acted  on  the  defensive  and  vanquished 
his  assailant.  His  personal  combats  with  Indians  and  des- 
peradoes would  fill  a volume.  It  is  a notable  fact  that  when 
he  had  overcame  an  assailant  in  a fist  fight  or  otherwise, 
if  he  chanced  to  be  a white  man,  he  always  gave  him  fath- 
erly counsel  and  offered  him  his  hand. 

It  was  said  of  him  that  he  knew  every  road,  trail  and 
landscape  throughout  all  West  Texas.  He  had  visited  nearly 
every  home  in  all  this  vast  region,  administered  to  the  sick, 
officiated  at  weddings  and  funerals,  and  received  a frontier 
welcome  everywhere. 

SKETCH  OF  JOHN  S.  CHISUM. 

By  James  M.  Waide,  Slidell,  Texas. 

Denton  county  had  the  honor  of  having  as  one  of  her 
citizens  a man  who,  with  perhaps  one  exception,  owned 
more  cattle  than  any  other  man  in  the  world.  His  name 
was  John  S.  Chisum,  and  he  came  to  Denton  county  from 
Lamar  county  in  the  year  1854,  and  located  on  Clear 
Creek,  three  miles  above  the  town  of  Bolivar,  at  the  place 
now  known  as  the  Waide  place.  Before  he  came  to  Den- 
ton county  he  was  county  clerk  of  Lamar  county.  Steve 
Fowler,  a wealthy  man  of  New  Orleans  bought  three  thou- 
sand cows  and  employed  Chisum  to  bring  them  to  Denton 
county  and  put  them  on  the  range.  He  was  to  give  Chisum 


SWIMMING  THE  NORTH  PLATTE  RIVER  From  a Painting  by  Warren  Hunter 


260 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


one-half  of  the  increase  to  look  after  them  and  allowed  him 
to  mark  and  brand  his  half  in  his  own  mark  and  brand,  the 
other  half  of  the  increase  were  to  be  each  year  marked  and 
branded  in  the  partnership  mark  and  brand.  This  kind  of 
a proposition  was  greater  than  being  county  clerk  of  La- 
mar county,  and  he  thus  became  a stock-raiser  in  Denton 
county.  Many  old  time  citizens  yet  living  knew  him  per- 
sonally, and  many  people  who  never  knew  him  heard  of 
the  Lincoln  County  War  in  New  Mexico  in  which  John  S. 
Chisum  took  a prominent  part.  The  war  in  New  Mexico 
was  started  by  one  of  his  cow  hands  known  as  “Billie  the 

Kid,”  who  afterward  became  a noted  outlaw  in  New  Mexi- 

co and  was  finally  killed  by  United  States  Marshall  Pat 
Garrett. 

John  Chisum  raised  stock  in  this  county  for  a number  of 
years,  and  moved  his  cattle  to  the  Concho  River  in  1864 

and  1865,  moving  out  of  this  county  over  100,000  head 

and  leaving  a remnant  of  at  least  30,000  in  Denton  and  ad- 
joining counties.  Later  he  went  to  New  Mexico  and  con- 
tinued in  the  cattle  business  until  his  death,  after  which  his 
estate  went  to  his  two  brothers,  Pitser  and  James  Chisum. 


THE  CHISHOLM  TRAIL 

By  Fred  Sutton,  of  Oklahoma  City,  Okla. 

The  meeting  of  “The  Old  Time  Trail  Drivers’  Association,” 
of  which  the  writer  is  a charter  member,  held  at  Houston, 
Texas,  calls  to  mind  many  interesting  bits  of  history  of  the 
early  day  cow  business  and  of  the  drives  made  over  the 
romantic  and  historic  Chisholm  trail.  And  I wonder  what 
has  become  of  all  of  those  good  boys  who  blazed  the  way 
from  San  Antonio  to  where  it  crossed  the  Red  River  near 
Gainesville,  thence  through  what  is  now  Love,  Carter,  Gar- 
vin, Grady,  Canadian,  Kingfisher,  Garfield  and  Grant  coun- 
ties in  Oklahoma. 

This  trail  was  started  in  1868  by  John  Chisholm,  who 
drove  the  first  bunch  of  cows  from  San  Antonio  to  Abilene, 
Kan.,  and  for  whom  the  trail  was  named.  One  of  the  prin- 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


261 

cipal  watering-  places  was  at  what  was  called  the  govern- 
ment spring,  and  which  is  now  a beautiful  park  in  the  city 
of  Enid.  I11  ’72  the  terminus  was  shifted  to  Ellsworth,  Kan- 
sas, and  in  that  year  the  Santa  Fe  built  into  the  Great  Bend 
country  and  Dodge  City  was  laid  out  as  a townsite,  and  in 
’74  the  head  of  the  drive  was  located  at  that  point.  From 
’74  to  ’84  Dodge  City  was  headquarters  for  all  cow  men 
from  Oklahoma  and  Texas.  During  that  ten  years  it  was 
the  toughest  spot  on  the  American  continent  and  much  his- 
tory has  been  written  of  it  and  of  the  men  who  tamed  the 
population  and  who  turned  the  wide  open  town  with  its  In- 
dian fighters,  buffalo  hunters,  cowboys,  dance  halls,  honky- 
tonks  and  gambling  houses,  into  the  modern  city  of  today, 
where  a beautiful  high  school  building  ornaments  the  sum- 
mit of  the  notorious  Boot  Hill,  where  many  a mother’s  boy 
who  left  the  East  so  suddenly  that  he  forgot  to  take  his  name 
with  him  was  laid  away  by  the  followers  of  the  Chisholm 
trail. 

It  was  in  the  year  1881  that  the  writer  made  his  first 
drive  over  the  trail  for  Jesse  Evans,  one  of  the  cattle-  kings 
of  that  day.  He  was  accompanied  by  some  twenty  good 
hearted,  dare-devil,  fear-nothing  riders,  and  he  would  love 
to  know  where  the  remnant  of  that  little  band  of  good  boys 
is  and  that  those  who  have  passed  on  were  given  credit  for 
the  good  deeds  performed  in  this  life  and  the  broad  mantle 
of  charity  spread  over  the  faults  that  we  all  have,  and  of 
which  (it  seems  to  me)  the  writer  has  more  than  any.  On 
this  drive  some  of  our  boys  quit  and  men  were  picked  up  to 
take  their  places  and  in  this  way  we  were  joined  by  Bill  Dris- 
coll, who  had  been  riding  the  Bar  L ranch  for  Colonel  Brooks. 
He  was  a morose,  sullen  man  who  never  spoke  of  his  past 
and  as  he  was  always  practicing  shooting  and  telling  of  his 
prowess  with  a “45,”  no  one  made  inquiry  regarding  it  and 
in  a short  time  all  quit  trying  to  be  pleasant  or  sociable  with 
him  and  he  was  left  almost  entirely  to  himself. 

Another  recruit  was  Burt  Phelps,  who  came  from  no  one 
knows  where,  but  he  joined  the  drive  at  “Old  Boot  ranch.” 
He  was  a mild-mannered,  blue-eyed  boy  of  22  years,  highly 
educated  and  very  refined  and  seemingly  entirely  out  of  place 


262 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


on  the  trail,  a fact  of  which  all  were  sure  when  he  was  seen 
one  day  to  be  earnestly  reading  a little  pocket  edition  of  the 
Bible,  which  he  hurriedly  put  away  and  blushed  like  a school 
girl  when  he  saw  us  looking  at  him.  Though  quite  modest 
and  retiring  in  disposition,  he  was  soon  a rank  favorite  with 
all  except  Driscoll,  who  never  missed  a chance  to  make 
light  of  “mamma’s  boy,”  as  he  called  him.  Burt  was  warned 
several  times  to  look  out  for  Driscoll  as  he  was  a bad  and 
ugly  tempered  man  and  would  probably  try  to  draw  him  into 
a fight,  and  as  he  already  had  several  notches  on  his  gun  a 
fight  with  him  was  to  be  earnestly  avoided.  To  this  Burt 
replied  that  he  did  not  fear  him  and  despite  the  notches  he 
was  not  afraid  and  that  if  occasion  required  he  could  shoot 
him  twice  while  he  was  pulling  his  gun,  a statement  which 
was  soon  to  be  borne  out. 

That  evening  in  camp  a fire  had  been  built  of  some  dry 
wood  gathered  along  Red  River,  and  Driscoll  was  standing 
rather  close  to  it  when  Burt  threw  a handful  of  wood  on  it, 
causing  a small  coal  to  fly  up  and  strike  him  in  the  face. 
He  at  once  flew  into  a rage  and  grasped  his  six-shooter,  but 
before  he  could  get  it  from  the  holster  Burt  had  his  gun 
in  his  face  and  smilingly  took  the  gun  with  its  notches  from 
Driscoll  and  taking  the  shells  from  it  handed  it  back  and 
said:  “Mr.  Driscoll,  you  act  like  you  were  drawing  a siege 

gun  into  action  and  ought  to  practice  up  some  that  you  may 
defend  yourself  in  time  of  trouble.  You  had  better  go  now 
and  rest  up  for  a hard  day’s  ride  tomorrow.”  He  moved 
sullenly  away  and  again  Burt  was  warned  to  be  careful, 
which  only  brought  a smile  to  his  boyish  face. 

For  some  days  all  went  smoothly,  until  we  bedded  one 
night  near  the  D H K Ranch,  and  were  asked  to  attend  a 
dance  at  that  place,  and  as  opportunities  of  that  kind  were 
few  and  far  between,  all  gladly  accepted,  and,  leaving  a few 
boys  to  watch  the  herd,  the  rest  went  to  the  dance,  where  all 
had  a fine  time.  At  about  midnight  a driver  by  the  name  of 
Ed  Bannister,  who  was  from  Atchison,  Kansas,  called  to  Burt 
through  a window  of  the  ranch  house  to  loan  him  his  gun,  as 
a man  out  there  wanted  to  kill  a wolf  that  was  scaring  the 
horses.  Knowing  Bannister  to  be  his  triend,  nothing  was 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


263 


thought  of  the  request  and  the  gun  was  handed  out  and  soon 
returned  with  the  word  that  the  wolf  had  gotten  away.  Short- 
ly after  all  went  back  to  camp  and  to  sleep. 

The  following  day  Driscoll  and  Burt  met  at  a water  hole 
and  Driscoll  renewed  the  quarrel  of  a few  days  past,  and 
drew  his  gun,  but  before  he  could  fire  Burt  had  snapped  his 
gun  twice  from  the  hip.  Driscoll  fired  and  poor  Burt  fell 
dead.  The  man  who  asked  Bannister  to  borrow  the  gun  had 
removed  the  loads.  It  was  Bill  Driscoll.  Some  say  Driscoll 
escaped  and  was  later  in  the  sheep  business  in  New  Mexico. 
Others  say  that  at  the  foot  of  a dead  tree  on  the  bank  of 
Red  River  could  be  found  a few  bones  and  a black-barreled 
.45  with  several  notches  on  the  handle  and  four  loaded 
shells.  Who  knows?  The  writer  does  know  that  on  a 
gently  sloping  hill  overlooking  the  valley  of  the  Red  River  is 
an  almost  forgotton  grave  that  contains  all  that  is  left  of  the 
mortal  remains  of  poor  Burt  Phelps,  and  in  the  inside  pocket 
of  his  coat  is  a little  Bible,  on  the  fly-leaf  of  which  was 
written,  “From  mother  to  her  boy.”  Where  he  came  from 
no  one  knew,  but  his  companions  on  the  drive  believed  him 
to  be  the  son  of  a rich  eastern  father  with  whom  he  had 
fallen  out,  resulting  in  his  leaving  home  to  cast  his  lot  with 
the  rough  element  to  be  found  on  the  range. 

The  writer  could  go  to  this  forgotten  grave  where  poor 
Burt’s  remains  are  resting  and  where  he  was  laid  by  a bunch 
of  cowboys  who,  with  hats  in  hand,  tried  to  say  a prayer 
and,  failing,  their  eyes  dimmed  with  tears,  one  member  on 
his  knees,  with  eyes  raised  to  heaven,  said,  “Oh,  God,  look 
down  on  this  Thy  child.” 

The  writer  lives  now  at  Oklahoma  City,  not  far  from  the 
old  trail  that  could  tell  so  many  stories  of  human  interest  if 
it  could  but  speak.  Other  men  who  live  here  and  who  rode 
the  trail  from  ’74  to  ’84  are  Frank  M.  Gault.  He  was  sent 
in  1880,  by  W.  H.  Davis,  to  Laredo,  Texas,  to  bring  5,000 
longhorns  over  the  trail  to  Dodge  City,  and  on  this  drive  he 
had  as  his  assistant  foreman  Wills  McCoy,  now  of  San  An- 
tonio; James  D.  Cox,  who  drove  through  in  ’74,  and  who, 
now  at  the  age  of  82,  would  rather  have  a good  cow  horse 
and  saddle  than  the  finest  auto,  has  a fine  ranch  in  Ari- 


264 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


zona  and  often  spends  his  summers  there;  Charley  Colcord, 
who  is  now  a millionaire  oil  man  and  whom  the  writer  re- 
cently met  at  a reception  attired  in  a full  dress  suit,  which 
brought  to  mind  the  fact  that  it  was  he  who  brought  the 
first  tooth  brush  to  Medicine  Lodge,  Kan.,  and  how  the 
punchers  all  wanted  to  borrow  it  till  pay  day,  and  after  that 
day  came,  for  a short  time,  each  rider  had  a white-handled 
brush  sticking  out  of  his  top  vest  or  shirt  pocket,  and  thus 
style  was  introduced  on  the  Kansas  plains  by  Charley  Col- 
cord, the  cowboy. 

I could  go  on  writing  of  others,  such  as  George  B.  Stone, 
Oscar  Halsell,  Bill  Tilghman,  B.  S.  McGuire,  F.  E.  Herring  of 
Elk  City,  and  others  who  were  good  cowboys,  and  are  good 
men,  who  while  on  the  range  could  take  their  own  part  un- 
der any  and  all  circumstances,  feared  nothing,  and  who  are 
now  the  God-fearing  and  peace-loving  business  men  who 
have  builded  a modern  city  of  100,000  people  in  twenty-seven 
years  on  the  site  of  the  Chisholm  trail. 


PREFERRED  TO  TAKE  OLDER  CATTLE  UP  THE  TRAIL 

By  Thomas  Welder,  Beeville,  Texas. 

In  the  early  seventies  we  owned  quite  a large  horse  stock, 
and  there  being  no  market  for  them  in  this  country  I de- 
cided to  drive  a bunch  east  in  hopes  of  finding  sale  for  them. 
In  1873  I gathered  one  hundred  mules  and  some  good  horses 
and  started  with  them.  I first  went  to  Wharton,  on  the  Colo- 
rado, but  not  finding  a market  there,  I went  on  to  Rich- 
mond, on  the  Brazos,  then  to  Lake  Charles,  La.,  continuing 
my  journey  until  I wound  up  at  the  mouth  of  Red  River  in 
Louisiana.  There  I remained  five  months,  finally  disposing 
of  all  the  mules  and  horses.  I continued  to  make  drives  to 
that  region  every  year  until  1878,  when  I concluded  to  try 
driving  cattle  up  the  trail  to  Kansas.  That  spring  Dug 
Williams  and  1 drove  a herd  for  J.  J.  Welder.  We  gath- 
ered in  February,  and  after  branding  the  cattle  on  his  San 
Patricio  county  ranch  we  went  to  his  ranch  in  Refugio  coun- 
ty to  finish  up.  We  divided  the  cattle  into  two  herds,  having 
from  a one-year-old  up  to  a grown  steer.  I was  given  choice 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


265 


of  the  herds,  and  took  the  young  cattle,  2000  ones  and  500 
twos.  I soon  discovered  my  mistake,  for  the  young  cat- 
tle, not  being  able  to  stand  the  hardships  of  the  trail,  soon 
began  to  give  out  and  I found  myself  with  a lot  of  drags  as 
we  called  them.  We  were  caught  in  a severe  freeze  on 
Gonzales  Prairie,  which  made  matters  worse.  However,  I 
continued  on  my  journey  and  reached  Fort  Worth  where 
we  crossed  the  river  there  and  went  out  to  Blue  Mound  to 
spend  a few  days  resting  up.  With  the  assistance  of  Jim 
Reed  and  Tom  Ward,  formerly  citizens  of  South  Texas  but 
then  living  at  Fort  Worth,  I disposed  of  the  drags,  about  six- 
ty head,  at  six  dollars  per  head,  then  resumed  our  journey 
and  crossed  Red  River  at  Red  River  Station  on  the  eastern 
trail  into  the  Indian  Territory.  At  the  entrance  of  every 
reservation  I found  a sign  posted  up,  “One  Wohaw,”  which 
meant  that  the  Indians  wanted  one  steer  to  pay  for  grazing 
privileges.  I always  complied  with  the  request  and  had  no 
trouble,  but  others  who  failed  to  do  so  had  their  cattle  stam- 
peded at  night  and  probably  lost  more  in  the  end  than  1 
did.  We  encountered  several  severe  hailstorms  on  our  way, 
but  finally  reached  Dodge  City,  where  we  sold  part  of  our 
cattle  to  be  delivered  at  Ogallala,  Nebraska.  The  remaining 
ones  we  closed  out  at  Dodge  City.  We  returned  home  by 
way  of  Kansas  City,  Galveston,  Indianola  and  Victoria. 

In  1882  I put  400  head  of  my  cattle  into  a herd  with 
J.  J.  Welder  and  Wash  Moss  and  1 drove  for  him  that  year. 
The  herd  consisted  of  5000  head,  which  we  gathered  and 
branded  at  his  ranch  on  the  San  Antonio  River.  We  divided 
the  cattle  into  two  herds  of  2500  each,  and  having  gained 
some  valuable  experience  the  year  before  1 chose  the  herd 
of  older  cattle,  and  started  on  the  trail  with  them.  They 
stampeded  every  night  for  ten  or  twelve  nights,  and  I began 
to  think  I had  again  made  a mistake,  but  they  soon  got 
used  to  the  trail  and  quit  giving  trouble.  I delivered  the  last 
of  these  cattle  about  twenty  miles  from  Denver,  Colorado. 
We  reached  Dodge  City  sometime  in  June,  where  John  sold 
the  grown  steers  to  Major  Maberry,  who  had  a contract  with 
the  government  to  furnish  the  Indians  with  beef.  We  de- 
livered 500  to  him  I think,  the  remaining  2000  of  my  herd 


26  6 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


were  sold  to  a banker,  Fine  Eames,  of  Denver,  to  be  deliv- 
ered there.  We  started  the  herd  from  Dodge  City,  going  up 
the  Arkansas  River  some  200  or  300  miles  in  order  to  have 
plenty  of  water  for  the  cattle.  We  also  followed  a small 
stream  called  Sandy  River  for  some  distance.  We  had  to 
drive  our  cattle  up  and  down  this  river  for  two  or  three  hours 
at  a time,  then  take  them  out  to  give  the  water  time  to  rise, 
and  let  them  go  to  the  water  in  small  bunches  in  order  for 
the  herd  to  get  sufficient  water.  We  reached  the  Kit  Car- 
son  ranch  on  the  Union  Pacific  or  the  Kansas  Pacific  about 
twenty  miles  from  Denver,  where  we  delivered  the  herd  and 
the  outfit  returned  home. 

Before  closing  I want  to  relate  one  little  incident  of  ex- 
citement that  happened  to  me  in  1878.  While  on  the  trail, 
after  crossing  the  North  Canadian  River,  I was  traveling  ahead 
of  the  herd  to  find  a stopping  place  for  the  night  and  after 
finding  a good  place  started  back  to  the  herd,  when  I was 
overtaken  by  seven  Indians.  They  wanted  to  swap  horses 
with  me,  but  I would  not  swap,  then  one  wanted  some 
cartridges  for  his  gun.  I had  a belt  full,  but  I pulled  out 
my  pistol,  held  it  in  my  hand  and  kept  right  on  traveling. 
One  of  the  Indians  grabbed  for  my  hat,  but  I dodged  and 
kept  him  from  getting  it.  Finally  I saw  our  lead  cattle 
coming  over  the  hill  and  pointed  to  them.  The  Indians 
saw  the  herd  and  at  once  quit  me,  and  I felt  considerably 
relieved. 

CORNBREAD  AND  CLABBER  MADE  A GOOD  MEAL 

By  Joseph  Cotulla,  of  Cotulla,  Texas. 

I was  born  in  Grosslelitch,  Germany,  then  Poland,  March 
19,  1844,  and  came  to  America  with  my  mother  and  grand- 
mother in  1856.  We  landed  at  Galveston  in  December 
of  that  year,  from  whence  we  journeyed  to  Indianola,  and 
then  to  San  Antonio  in  an  ox  wagon,  arriving  in  San  An- 
tonio in  1857.  From  San  Antonio  we  went  to  Gallinas, 

Atascosa  county,  where  my  aunt  and  sisters  lived.  They 
came  to  America  only  the  year  before  we  came.  1 secured 
work  with  a Frenchman  at  four  dollars  per  month,  re- 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


267 


maining  with  him  a year  and  a half,  saved  my  wages  and 
bought  a horse  for  forty  dollars.  I rode  that  horse  just 
half  a day  and  he  died.  Thus  I had  gained  my  first  real 
experience.  I was  next  employed  by  Joe  Walker,  the  first 
county  clerk  of  Atascosa  county,  for  six  dollars  per  month. 

I remained  with  him  until  1862,  when  I went  to  work  for 
Ben  Slaughter,  who  lived  at  La  Parita,  and  he  paid  me 
seven  dollars  per  month  Confederate  money.  Later  Ben 
and  John  Slaughter,  Lee  Harris,  the  two  Forrest  boys  and 
an  Englishman  named  Moody,  and  myself  started  to  Mex- 
ico, and  while  on  the  way  we  stopped  one  day  and  took 
dinner  with  John  Burleson.  The  dinner  was  fine,  the 
menu  consisting  of  cornbread  and  clabber,  and  we  en- 
joyed it  immensely,  for  we  were  all  very  hungry  and  could 
have  eaten  the  skillet  the  bread  was  cooked  in. 

After  bidding  John  goodbye  we  resumed  our  journey 
down  the  river,  crossing  the  Presidio  to  our  destination. 
After  a short  stay  in  Matamoras,  John  and  Ben  Slaughter 
returned  to  Texas,  Moody  went  to  England,  and  1 went 
to  New  Orleans,  where  I enlisted  in  the  Federal  Army  in 
1863,  remaining  with  the  troops  nearly  two  years.  After 
receiving  my  discharge  in  San  Antonio  I went  back  to 
Gallinas  and  began  to  work  for  myself,  branding  mave- 
ricks. In  March,  1868,  I went  to  Nueces  and  drove  a 
herd  from  the  Altito  to  Abilene,  Kansas,  for  L.  B.  Harris. 
We  crossed  these  cattle  below  San  Juan  Mission,  going  by 
way  of  Austin,  Waco  and  Dallas,  crossing  the  Red  River 
about  eight  miles  above  Fort  Arkansas,  passing  through  the 
Indian  Territory  and  crossing  Little  Arkansas  River,  then 
on  to  Abilene.  When  we  reached  Abilene  we  found  only 
a log  cabin  and  three  houses  on  Smoky  River.  We  re- 
mained there  until  fall,  then  returned  with  our  horses  and 
wagon. 

In  November,  1868,  Dick  Hildebrandt,  Ed  Lyons,  Gil- 
bert Turner,  L.  P.  Williams  and  myself  came  out  to  Nueces 
and  located.  We  gathered  fed  beeves  that  year,  and  sold 
them  to  Fred  Malone,  Joe  Collins,  Thomas,  and  Shanghai 
Pierce  (the  man  who  introduced  the  walking  stick  in  Kan- 
sas.) In  the  spring  of  1869,  I went  back  to  Atascosa 


268 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


county  where  1 remained  until  fall,  then  came  back  and 
we  started  a ranch,  all  working  together  until  1873,  when 
we  started  up  the  trail  with  two  herds  of  cattle.  I drove 
the  first  herd  to  my  place  in  Atascosa  county,  from  where 
I put  them  on  the  trail,  going  by  way  of  San  Juan  Mis- 
sion and  Austin.  We  never  saw  a house  until  we  crossed 
the  trail  where  the  town  of  Sherman  is  now  located.  On 
this  trip  we  saw  a number  of  Indians  but  they  did  not  mo- 
lest us.  When  we  reached  Wichita,  Kansas,  I sold  my 
cattle  to  a man  named  Polk,  who  beat  me  out  of  five  thou- 
sand dollars.  I lost  seven  thousand  dollars  on  that  trip. 
When  I came  back  in  the  fall  I bought  Dick  Hildebrandt’s 
interest  in  cattle  and  in  1874  drove  a herd  by  myself  which 
I sold  for  enough  to  make  up  the  money  1 had  lost,  and  I 
never  went  up  the  trail  any  more. 

Now  at  the  age  of  seventy-six  I am  still  in  the  cattle 
business  and  living  in  the  same  place  I located  in  1868. 


A WOMAN  TRAIL  DRIVER 

By  Mrs.  A.  Burks,  Cotulla,  Texas. 

My  husband,  Mr.  W.  F.  Burks,  and  I lived  on  a ranch  at 
Banquete,  Nueces  county,  during  the  days  that  Texas  cattle 
could  be  marketed  only  by  driving  them  over  the  old  Kan- 
sas Trail. 

At  this  time  in  this  section  of  the  country,  good  steers 
could  be  bought  for  fifteen  dollars,  and  were  often  killed 
for  the  hides  and  tallow.  The  meat  was  fed  to  the  hogs. 

In  the  early  spring  of  1871  Mr.  Burks  rounded  up  his  < 
cattle  and  topped  out  a thousand  head  of  the  best  to  take  to  ' 
market.  Jasper  Clark  (better  known  as  “Jap”)  was  get-  ; 
ting  ready  to  take  the  Clark  herd  also,  so  they  planned  to 
keep  the  two  herds  not  far  apart. 

They  started  in  April  with  about  ten  cowboys  each,  most- 
ly Mexicans,  and  the  cooks.  The  cattle  were  road-branded 
at  Pinitas  and  started  on  the  familiar  trail.  They  were  only 
a day  out  when  Marcus  Burks,  my  brother-in-law,  came  back 
with  a note  to  me  from  Mr.  Burks  asking  me  to  get  ready 


I / 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


269 


■ 

as  soon  as  possible  and  catch  up  with  the  bunch.  He 
also  said  to  bring'  either  Eliza  or  Nick  (black  girl  and  boy 
who  worked  for  us)  to  look  out  for  my  comfort,  and  sug- 
gested that  Nick  would  be  of  more  help  than  the  girl. 

So  Nick  and  I started  in  my  little  buggy  drawn  by  two 
good  brown  ponies  and  overtook  the  herd  in  a day’s  time. 
Nick,  being  more  skilled  than  the  camp  cook,  prepared  my 
meals.  He  also  put  up  my  tent  evenings  and  took  it  down 
when  we  broke  up  camp.  It  was  intended  that  he  should 
drive  my  horses  when  I was  tired,  but  that  was  not  neces- 
sary for  the  horses  often  had  no  need  of  anyone  driving 
them.  They  would  follow  the  slow-moving  herd  unguided, 
and  I would  find  a comfortable  position,  fasten  the  lines,  and 
take  a little  nap. 


The  cattle  were  driven  only  about  ten  miles  a day,  or 
less,  so  that  they  would  have  plenty  of  time  to  graze  and 
fatten  along  the  way.  They  were  in  good  condition  when 
they  reached  Kansas. 

Except  when  1 was  lost,  I left  the  bunch  only  once  after 
starting.  On  this  occasion  I went  to  Concrete,  where  my  sis- 
ter lived,  to  have  a tent  made  for  the  trip. 

The  night  before  our  herd  reached  Beeville  the  Clark  herd 
stampeded  and  never  caught  sight  of  us  until  we  were  ’way 
up-state. 

All  went  pretty  well  with  us  till  we  neared  Lockhart,  and 
here  we  lost  thirty  cows  in  the  timber.  They  were  never 
recovered. 

Whenever  we  came  to  timber  we  had  to  rush  the  cattle 
through,  sometimes  driving  all  day  without  stopping,  for  if 
they  were  scattered  it  was  almost  impossible  to  gather  them 
again  in  the  thick  undergrowth. 

Being  spring-time,  the  weather  was  delightful  until  we 
reached  Central  Tetcas.  Some  of  the  worst  electrical  and 
hail  storms  I have  ever  witnessed  were  in  this  part  and  also 
in  North  Texas.  The  lightning  seemed  to  settle  on  the  ground 
and  creep  along  like  something  alive. 

Over  in  Bosque  county  late  one  evening  a storm  overtook 
us,  and  Mr.  Burks  drove  me  off  into  a more  sheltered  part 
of  the  timber.  He  unfastened  the  traces  from  the  buggy 


2 70 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


and  gave  me  the  lines,  but  told  me  if  the  horses  tried  to 
run  to  let  them  go.  Hail  had  begun  to  fall  by  this  time  and 
he  had  to  hurry  back  to  help  the  men  hold  the  frightened 
cattle.  Harder  and  heavier  fell  the  hail,  and  rain  was  pour- 
ing down  in  torrents.  The  horses  worked  their  way  around 
to  one  side  of  the  buggy,  seeking  protection,  and  it  seemed 
that  it  would  be  only  a few  seconds  until  they  pulled  away 
from  me  entirely.  Determined  not  to  let  the  horses  go,  I 
left  the  shelter  of  my  buggy-top  and  tied  the  horses  with 
a rope  I always  carried  with  me.  I got  back  in  the  buggy 
and  sat  there  cold  and  wet  and  hungry  and  all  alone  in  the 
dark.  Homesick!  This  is  the  only  time  of  all  the  months  of 
my  trip  that  I wished  I was  back  on  the  old  ranch  at  Ban- 
quete. 

After  what  seemed  ages  to  me  I could  hear  the  rumble  of 
wagon  wheels  on  the  trail,  and  later  still,  the  sound  of  the 
beat  of  a horse’s  hoofs  going  the  same  way;  but  no  one 
seemed  to  pay  me  any  mind. 

Later  1 learned  that  U was  the  cook  driving  the  wagon, 
not  knowing  which  way  to  go  after  being  lost  in  the  dark 
woods;  and'  that  Mr.  Burks  icde  after  him  to  bring  him  back 
to  cook  supper  for  the  hungry  men  who  had  had  nothing  to 
eat  since  morning. 

After  I heard  the  return  of  the  wagon  the  woods  rang 
with  the  sound  of  Mr.  Burk’s  voice  calling  me  and  1 lost  no 
time  in  answering.  It  was  one  o’clock  in  the  morning  when 
I reached  camp. 

Mr.  Burks  and  several  of  the  others  had  big  blood  blisters 
on  their  hands  caused  by  the  hail.  One  of  the  boys  said, 
“The  beat  of  the  hail  on  my  head  made  me  crazy.  I would 
have  run  but  didn’t  know  which  way  to  go.” 

There  were  few  people  living  along  the  trail,  but  when 
going  through  Ellis  County  we  saw  an  old  woman  sitting  in 
the  doorway  of  a small  house,  stringing  beans.  We  re- 
marked to  her  that  we  saw  very  few  women  in  that  part  of 
the  country.  She  answered,  “Yes,  sir,  I’m  the  first  woman 
that  made  a track  in  Dallas  county,  and  I would  be  back 
in  Tennessee  now,  only  I would  have  to  go  through  Arkansas 
to  get  there.  I guess  I’ll  stay  right  here.” 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


271 


MRS.  A.  BURKS 


272 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


Once  when  we  were  camping  in  Johnson  county  I heard 
the  bark  of  dogs  followed  by  several  rapid  pistol  shots.  I 
ran  to  my  tent  to  see  what  the  trouble  was.  The  Mexi- 
can who  had  charge  of  the  cattle  on  this  relay  said  that  two 
dogs  ran  right  in  among  the  grazing  herd  and  were  about  to 
stampede  them  when  he  shot  them. 

The  owner  of  the  dogs  appeared  soon  after  the  shooting 
and  seemed  very  downcast  over  his  loss.  He  said  he  had 
“sure  been  having  hard  luck.”  He  had  first  lost  his  two 
sons  in  the  Civil  War  and  had  now  lost  his  two  dogs  which 
he  had  trained  to  keep  cattle  out  of  his  tiny  near-by  field. 
We  were  sorry  for  the  poor  old  man,  but  knew  the  Mexican 
did  the  right  thing  in  preventing  a stampede. 

We  camped  a long  time  at  Fort  Worth,  waiting  for  the 
Trinity  River  to  fall  low  enough  to  cross  our  cattle.  1 count- 
ed fifteen  herds  here  waiting  to  cross. 

After  we  had  crossed  the  Red  River  we  seemed  to  have 
left  all  civilization  behind.  There  were  no  more  fresh  fields, 
green  meadows,  and  timber  lands.  The  sun  was  so  blistering 
that  we  hung  a cloth  inside  the  top  of  my  buggy  to  break 
the  heat  that  came  through.  Evenings  and  mornings  were 
so  cool  that  we  were  uncomfortable. 

We  had  heard  of  the  treacherous  Indians  and  cattle  rustlers 
of  the  Territory  and  were  always  on  the  lookout  for  them. 
The  cattle  and  horses  were  kept  well  guarded.  One  day  one 
of  the  Mexican  cowboys  who  was  on  guard  duty  fell  asleep. 
Mr.  Burks  could  not  permit  such  negligence  and  told  the  man 
that  he  had  to  go.  All  the  Mexicans  notified  Mr.  Burks  that 
if  this  man  was  “fired”  that  all  would  go  with  him.  Of 
course  there  was  no  one  else  to  be  employed  in  this  unin- 
habited territory  so  we  kept  the  man  who  had  to  have  his 
afternoon  nap. 

We  had  no  unpleasant  experiences  with  the  Indians,  al- 
though they  came  to  camp  and  tried  to  trade  with  the  men. 
We  narrowly  escaped  having  trouble  with  a couple  of,  what 
we  supposed  to  be,  rustlers.  While  alone  in  camp  one  af- 
ternoon two  men  came  up  and  were  throwing  rocks  in  among 
the  grazing  cattle.  I called  to  them  to  stop  and  said,  “Don’t 
you  know  you’ll  stampede  those  cattle?”  and  they  answered, 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


273 


“That’s  what  we’re  trying  to  do.”  Just  then  some  of  the  men 
rode  up  and  the  rustlers  left  hurriedly. 

Mr.  Burks  always  kept  his  horse  saddled  at  night  so  that 
he  would  be  ready  to  go  at  a word  from  the  boys.  As  he 
often  helped  the  men  watch  the  cattle  when  they  were  rest- 
less, I was  sometimes  alone  in  my  tent  till  late  at  night.  On 
these  occasions  1 sat  up  fully  dressed  for  any  emergency. 

On  one  of  these  nights  it  was  thought  that  Indians  were 
near,  so  a guard  was  left  at  my  tent,  but  he  was  soon  called 
to  help  with  the  cattle.  A man  from  the  other  camp  begged 
me  to  go  over  to  his  camp  and  stay  until  the  trouble  was 
over  but  I told  him  I preferred  my  own  tent.  The  men 
thought  me  very  brave  to  stay  alone  at  such  a time. 

Both  the  Clark  and  our  herds  were  stampeded  one  day, 
supposedly  by  Indians.  It  was  a horrible  yet  fascinating  sight. 
Frantic  cowboys  did  all  in  their  power  to  stop  the  wild  flight, 
but  nothing  but  exhaustion  could  check  it.  By  working  al- 
most constantly  the  men  gathered  the  cattle  in  about  a 
week’s  time.  They  were  all  thrown  into  one  big  herd,  and 
the  roar  of  hoof-beats  of  two  thousand  milling  cattle  was 
almost  deafening.  The  herd  was  divided  into  two,  then 
worked  back  and  forth  until  every  cow  was  in  her  rightful 
bunch. 

After  an  experience  of  this  kind  the  men  would  be  almost 
exhausted.  I felt  so  sorry  for  one  of  them,  Branch  Isbell,  a 
young  tenderfoot,  that  I persuaded  Mr.  Burks  to  let  him 
rest.  The  boy  lay  down  and  was  soon  sleeping  so  soundly 
that  he  did  not  hear  us  breaking  camp,  and  we  forgot  him 
when  we  left.  I wanted  someone  to  go  back  and  wake  him, 
but  Mr.  Burks  said  that  it  would  be  only  a little  while  till  he 
appeared  again.  The  boy  overtook  us  late  in  the  evening, 
and  said  that  he  would  not  have  awakened  then  if  an  ap- 
proaching herd  had  not  almost  ran  over  him. 

We  seemed  to  be  pursued  by  fire  during  our  entire  trip. 
The  first  night  we  were  in  the  Territory  Mr.  Burks  and  I 
went  to  sleep  leaving  a candle  burning,  and  before  we  were 
awakened  a box  full  of  trinkets  and  small  articles,  including 
my  comb,  were  in  a blaze. 


274 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


On  one  occasion  a prairie  fire  ran  us  out  of  camp  before 
breakfast.  We  escaped  by  fleeing  to  a part  of  the  plain 
which  had  been  burned  before,  called  “a  burn”  by  people  of 
that  section. 

Two  days  later  my  ignorance  was  the  cause  of  an  immense 
prairie  fire.  I thought  I would  build  a fire  in  a gulley  while 
the  cook  had  gone  for  water.  Not  later  than  I had  struck 
the  match  than  the  grass  all  around  was  in  a blaze  which 
spread  so  quickly  that  the  men  could  not  stop  it.  They  suc- 
ceeded in  beating  out  the  flanks  of  the  fire  so  that  it  did  not 
spread  out  at  the  sides  at  the  beginning.  The  fire  blazed 
higher  than  a house  and  went  straight  ahead  for  fifty  miles  or 
more.  Investigators  came  next  day  to  find  out  who  the 
culprit  was,  and  when  they  learned  that  it  was  a woman, 
nothing  was  said,  except  for  a remark  one  of  the  men  made 
that  he  was  glad  that  he  didn’t  strike  that  match. 

Once,  when  we  were  camped  on  Emmet  Creek  a fire  crept 
upon  us  so  quickly  that  the  men  barely  had  time  to  break  up 
camp  and  get  the  cattle  to  safety.  There  was  not  time  enough 
to  harness  the  horses  to  my  buggy,  so  the  men  tied  ropes  to 
it,  told  me  to  jump  in,  and  we  again  fled  to  a burn.  Birds 
and  animals  fled  with  us  before  the  flames. 

Many  of  the  prairie  fires  were  started  by  squatters  on  land 
who  wanted  to  keep  strangers  away.  They  would  plough  a 
safety  boundary  around  their  stake  and  then  set  fire  to  the 
grass  outside. 

Fuel  was  very  scarce  because  of  these  fires  and  the  cook 
often  had  to  go  miles  to  get  enough  to  cook  a meal. 

We  crossed  many  nice  cool  streams  whose  banks  were  cov- 
ered with  wild  plums.  I noticed  the  ripe  ones  first  when 
crossing  the  Washita,  and  wanted  to  stop  to  gather  some. 
Mr.  Burks  wasn’t  ready  to  stop,  so  told  me  that  the  Indians 
were  very  troublesome  at  this  place,  and  I needed  no  coax- 
ing to  start  the  horses  on. 

Later,  when  we  came  to  the  Canadian  River,  the  red,  blue, 
and  yellow  plums  were  so  tempting  1 had  one  of  the  Mexi- 
cans stop  with  me  to  gather  some.  We  wandered  farther 
away  from  the  buggy  than  I realized,  and  when  we  had  gone 
back  a short  way  I thought  the  horses  had  run  away  and 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


275 


left  us.  I was  panic  stricken  but  the  Mexican  insisted  that 
we  go  farther  upstream,  and  we  soon  found  the  horses, 
standing  just  as  they  were  left.  1 forgot  my  scare  when  the 
cook  served  me  with  delicious  plum  pie  made  from  the  fruit 
I had  gathered. 

Being  the  only  woman  in  camp  the  men  rivaled  each 
other  in  attentiveness  to  me.  They  were  always  on  the 
lookout  for  something  to  please  me,  a surprise  of  some  deli- 
cacy of  the  wild  fruit,  or  prairie  chicken,  or  antelope  tongue. 

In  the  northern  part  of  the  Territory  we  left  the  trail 

awhile  to  graze  the  cattle,  and  I drove  on  ahead  of  the 

bunch  to  a stream.  “Jap”  Clark  motioned  to  me  to  stop, 
but  1 misunderstood  him  and  thought  he  meant  “go  on,” 
and  plunged  my  horses  in  the  swollen  creek.  One  of  the 
horses  stumbled  and  fell,  but  was  on  his  feet  in  a moment, 
and  somehow  I was  jolted  across  to  the  other  side.  I was 
the  subject  of  much  chaffing  because  of  this  alleged  at- 
tempt to  break  my  neck.  The  crossing  was  so  bad  that 

the  banks  had  to  be  chopped  down  to  make  it  safe  for  cross- 

ing the  cattle. 

On  the  banks  of  the  Arkansas  River  we  saw  two  Yan- 
kees who  called  themselves  farmers.  When  we  asked  to 
see  their  farms  they  showed  us  two  plots  about  the  size  of 
a small  home  garden.  They  said  they  had  never  farmed 
before  and  we  easily  believed  them.  Vegetables  were  a 
great  treat  to  us  so  we  bought  some  from  the  “farmers” 
and  enjoyed  them  immensely. 

The  camp  cook  on  this  trip  was  a very  surly  negro.  He 
was  a constant  source  of  trouble,  and  everybody  was  glad 
when  he  was  “fired”  and  a white  man  took  his  place.  1 
heard  a commotion  in  the  camp  kitchen  one  day  and  when 
1 looked  out  of  the  tent  door  and  saw  the  cook  with  a 
raised  ax  and  a Mexican  facing  him  with  a cocked  pistol. 
Mr.  Burks  rode  up  in  time  to  prevent  a killing. 

We  were  three  months  on  the  trail  when  we  arrived  at 
Emmet  Creek,  twenty-two  miles  from  Newton,  Kansas. 

We  summered  here,  as  did  several  other  Texas  ranch- 
men. Market  had  broken,  and  everybody  that  could  do  so 
held  his  cattle  hoping  for  a rise. 


27  6 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


While  going  to  town  we  would  often  stop  at  the  differ- 
ent camps  for  a few  minutes’  chat. 

On  stormy  and  rainy  nights  a candle  always  burned  in  my 
tent  to  guide  the  men.  One  very  stormy  night  Mr.  Burks 
had  to  help  the  men  hold  the  cattle,  and  he  saw  the  light 
in  the  tent  flare,  then  all  was  black.  He  rushed  through  the 
rain  to  the  place  where  the  tent  was,  and  found  it  flat  on 
the  ground,  me  buried  under  it,  unhurt.  The  rain  had  soft- 
ened the  ground  and  the  wind  easily  blew  the  tent  down. 
That  night  all  the  matches  got  wet  and  it  was  late  next 
morning  before  we  got  others  with  which  to  start  a fire. 

When  cold  weather  came  the  market  was  still  low  and 
Mr.  Burks  decided  to  winter  his  cattle,  with  others  he  had 
bought,  on  Smoky  River. 

Mr.  Burks  wanted  me  to  stay  in  town  at  Ellsmore,  but 
after  being  there  a few  days,  and  witnessing  another  fire  in 
which  a hotel  and  several  residences  were  burned,  I pre- 
ferred camp. 

A man  who  lived  some  distance  from  camp  was  paid  to 
feed  the  horses  through  the  winter,  but  soon  after  we  heard 
that  he  was  starving  them.  A boy  was  sent  to  get  them, 
and  as  he  was  returning,  the  first  severe  snowstorm  of  the 
season  overtook  him  at  nightfall,  and  he  had  to  take  refuge 
for  himself  and  horses  in  a wayside  stable.  Next  morning 
he  was  awakened  by  a commotion  among  the  horses,  and 
found  the  owner  of  the  stable  trying  to  punch  out  the  horses’ 
eyes  with  a pitch-fork.  Such  was  the  hatred  felt  for  strang- 
ers in  this  region. 

Nine  horses  were  lost  in  this  snowstorm.  Many  of  the 
young  cattle  lost  their  horns  from  the  cold.  Blocks  of  ice 
had  to  be  chopped  out  of  the  streams  in  order  that  the  cat- 
tle could  drink. 

The  first  taste  of  early  winter  in  Kansas  decided  Mr. 
Burks  to  sell  his  cattle  and  leave  for  Sunny  Texas  as  soon 
as  possible,  and  he  met  with  no  discouragement  of  his  plans 
from  me,  for  never  had  1 endured  such  cold. 

So  in  December  we  left  Kansas,  dressed  as  if  we  were 
Esquimaux,  and  carrying  a bucket  of  frozen  buffalo  tongues, 
as  a souvenir  for  my  friends  in  Texas.  Our  homeward  jour- 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


277 


ney  was  made  by  rail  to  New  Orleans,  via  St.  Louis,  and  by 
water  from  New  Orleans  to  Corpus  Christi,  via  Galveston  and 
Indianola. 

1 arrived  home  in  much  better  health  than  when  I left  it 
nine  months  before. 

Please  don’t  think,  now  that  I’ve  finished  telling  the  few 
stories  of  my  trip  over  the  Old  Kansas  Trail,  that  the  jour- 
ney was  one  of  trials  and  hardships.  These  incidents  served 
to  break  the  monotony  of  sameness  of  such  a trip. 

One  day  Mr  Von  said  as  we  were  resting  along  the  way, 
“In  the  heat  of  the  day  when  1 am  riding  behind  my  cattle 
I think  of  you  and  am  sorry  for  you”  and  added,  as  1 hope 
you  will,  “but  when  1 see  your  smile  of  happiness  and  con- 
tentment I know  all  my  sympathy  is  wasted.” 

What  Mr.  Von  said  is  true.  For  what  woman,  youthful 
and  full  of  spirit  and  the  love  of  living,  needs  sympathy  be- 
cause of  availing  herself  of  the  opportunity  of  being  with 
her  husband  while  at  his  chosen  work  in  the  great  out-of- 
door  world? 

THE  EXPERIENCE  OF  AN  OLD  TRAIL  DRIVER. 

By  Richard  (Dick)  Withers,  of  Boyes,  Montana. 

1 was  raised  on  my  father’s  ranch  eight  miles  north  of 
Lockhart,  Caldwell  county,  Texas,  and  made  my  first  trip 
up  the  trail  in  1869.  Colonel  J.  J.  Myers,  who  had  a ranch 
near  my  father’s,  had  a large  stock  of  cattle,  and  after  the 
war  he  commenced  to  drive  them  north,  and  that  year  1 
gathered  a hundred  and  ten  steers  and  put  them  in  one  of 
the  herds,  Billie  Campbell  being  boss.  I traded  a beef  steer 
for  a pair  of  goatskin  leggings,  bought  a slicker  and  a pair  of 
blankets  and  started  up  the  trail.  1 was  then  eighteen  years 
old.  We  crossed  the  Colorado  River  below  Austin,  went  by 
Georgetown,  Belton  and  Waco,  where  we  had  to  swim  the 
Brazos,  crossed  Red  River  and  struck  the  Chisholm  trail. 
Right  there  is  where  1 ran  my  first  antelope,  and  thought  it 
was  crippled.  I was  riding  a bay  horse  I called  “Buck,”  so 
I took  down  my  rope,  and  Buck  and  I lit  out  after  the  ante- 


278 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


lope,  but  we  did  not  go  far  until  we  quit  the  chase  and  went 
back  to  the  herd. 

We  had  a stampede  in  the  Territory  while  Noah  Ellis  and 
myself  were  on  herd  together.  In  the  run  that  followed  my 
horse  fell  with  me,  and  1 thought  the  steers  would  run  over 
me.  But  I soon  learned  that  steers  will  not  run  over  a man 
when  he  is  down  under  foot.  They  will  run  all  around  a fel- 
low, but  I have  yet  to  hear  of  a man  being  run  over  by 
them.  Ellis  and  I held  those  cattle  all  night.  After  we  got 
rounded  up  the  next  day  we  moved  on  to  the  Arkansas 
River,  where  we  found  three  herds  belonging  to  Billie  Camp- 
bell, Dan  Phillips  and  John  Bunton,  who  were  traveling  to- 
gether. The  river  was  up  and  no  ferry  to  help  us  across, 
so  we  had  to  swim  the  stream.  We  made  a raft  to  carry 
our  wagons  and  supplies  over,  which  took  some  time.  This 
was  at  a point  fifty  or  a hundred  miles  below  Wichita,  then 
consisting  of  a supply  store,  postoffice,  and  saloon,  all  in 
dug-outs. 

We  went  from  there  to  Abilene,  Kansas,  our  destination, 
where  we  sold  our  cattle  and  started  for  home. 

M.  A.  Withers  and  J.  W.  Montgomery  had  a large  number 
of  cattle  at  home  and  I had  a good  bunch,  so  in  1870  we 
gathered  a herd  together.  George  Hill  was  also  with  us,  and 
Bill  Montgomery,  George  Hill  and  myself  started  with  them 
to  Abilene,  Kansas.  In  those  days  1000  head  was  considered 
a large  herd,  but  we  had  3500  head  in  that  herd,  and  it  was 
called  “the  big  herd”  all  the  way.  We  crossed  the  Colo- 
rado below  Austin,  went  by  Georgetown  and  Belton  and 
crossed  Red  River  below  Red  River  Station.  The  river  was 
up  and  we  had  to  swim  it.  A few  days  after  we  crossed  this 
stream  we  had  a big  stampede,  in  which  we  lost  some  cattle 
and  had  to  lay  over  a day  while  George  Hill  and  myself  went 
to  look  for  the  missing  cattle.  Returning  to  camp  that  night 
my  horse  gave  out  and  1 was  compelled  to  roost  in  a thicket 
the  remainder  of  the  night  while  George  went  on  to  camp, 
a distance  of  about  five  miles. 

We  had  two  wagons  and  two  cooks  with  us,  Uncle  Gov. 
Montgomery  and  Jerry  Head.  A few  days  after  the  stam- 
pede mentioned  above,  the  wagons  went  ahead  of  the  herds 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


279 


to  get  dinner,  and  when  they  made  camp  a bunch  of  Indians 
came  up,  and  when  I arrived  at  Camp  I found  Uncle  Gov. 
and  Jerry  was  about  to  give  them  all  the  tobacco  and  cof- 
fee we  had.  I gave  them  only  a portion  of  our  coffee  and 
tobacco  and  they  left.  All  went  well  until  we  got  to  the 
North  Canadian,  which  was  also  on  a rise  and  we  had  to 
swim  our  cattle  across.  There  being  three  herds  of  us  to- 
gether, we  all  made  a raft  to  carry  our  wagons  over.  Our 
herd  was  in  the  lead  and  when  the  cattle  reached  the  oppo- 
site bank  and  started  out  the  embankment  gave  way  and  116 
head  of  the  cattle  were  drowned  before  we  could  turn  them 
back.  We  found  another  going  out  place  and  all  three  herds 
made  it  across  all  right.  When  we  commenced  the  getting 
wagons  over  with  the  three  outfits  there  was  a general  mix- 
up.  Somebody  in  the  other  outfit  had  a big  lot  of  Con- 
federate money,  and  Doom,  a silly  negro  that  was  with  us, 
found  this  money,  $10,000  in  large  bills,  and  he  hid  it,  and 
if  we  had  not  been  on  the  north  side  of  the  river  he  would 
have  left  us  and  tried  to  make  away  with  it.  He  showed  the 
money  to  me  and  1 told  him  it  was  worthless.  I do  not 
know  what  he  did  with  it,  but  we  would  have  lost  Doom  if 
the  river  had  not  been  up. 

We  moved  on  and  crossed  the  Arkansas  River  at  Wichita, 
then  on  to  Abilene  our  destination.  There  Montgomery  sold 
his  cattle,  to  be  delivered  in  Idaho,  beyond  the  Snake  River. 
George  Hill,  W.  F.  Montgomery,  Bill  Henderson  and  George 
Mohle  left  for  Texas,  while  Bill  Montgomery  and  myself  start- 
ed with  the  herd  to  Idaho.  We  went  from  Abilene  to  the 
Big  Blue  River,  from  there  to  the  South  Platte,  below  South 
Platte  City,  going  up  that  stream  to  Julesburg  and  crossed  the 
river,  from  whence  we  went  to  Cheyenne.  As  we  were  work- 
ing oxen  we  had  to  have  them  shod  at  Cheyenne,  as  the 
gravel  had  worn  their  hoofs  off  to  the  quick.  After  leaving 
Cheyenne  we  struck  the  North  Platte  River  below  Fort  Fet- 
terman.  A few  days  before  we  got  to  Fetterman  we  made 
a long  drive  to  water,  and  when  we  reached  the  water,  there 
being  no  other  herds  there  we  turned  our  herd  loose  that 
night.  During  the  night  a herd  of  five  hundred  big  fat 
steers  came  in,  which  were  being  driven  to  Fetterman,  and 


280 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


the  drivers,  not  knowing  we  were  there,  turned  their  herd 
loose  also  and  mixed  with  our  herd.  The  next  morning  we 
told  them  that  as  we  were  going  to  Fetterman  they  could  cut 
them  out  when  we  reached  that  place.  When  we  arrived  at 
Fetterman  we  rounded  up  our  herd  for  them  and  they  went 
to  cutting  out,  but  as  they  were  tenderfeet,  they  did  not 
succeed  very  well  and  now  and  then  one  would  come  back 
on  them.  You  old  Texas  cowboys  know  what  it  means  for 
a wild  Texas  steer  to  come  back  on  you.  When  they 
were  through  cutting  there  were  sixteen  of  those  big  fat 
steers  in  our  herd  which  they  could  not  cut  out,  and  we  told 
them  our  horses  were  “all  in,”  and  we  could  not  cut  them, 
so  I made  a trade  with  them,  giving  sixteen  head  of  lean 
cattle  for  their  fat  ones,  and  they  sure  came  in  mighty 
handy,  as  will  be  shown  later  on. 

We  went  up  the  North  Platte  and  struck  across  to  Sweet- 
water, following  the  old  California  immigrant  trail,  going  by 
the  Enchanted  Rock  and  Devil’s  Gate.  There  the  cook  broke 
one  of  the  ox  yokes  and  we  could  not  get  one,  so  we  had 
to  camp  and  cut  down  a small  cottonwood  tree  to  make  a 
yoke  with  a dull  axe  and  the  king  bolt  of  the  wagon  to  burn 
the  holes  with.  Bill  assigned  that  job  to  me.  It  took  me  all 
evening  and  all  night  to  burn  the  six  holes  in  the  yoke.  We 
pulled  out  the  next  day,  and  all  went  well  until  we  reached 
the  Rocky  Mountains.  It  was  forty  miles  across  these  moun- 
tains and  two  hundred  miles  around,  so  we  decided  to  go 
across  them.  This  was  in  October  and  the  weather  had  been 
good,  but  we  were  getting  short  of  grub.  The  first  night 
in  the  mountains  it  came  a snow  storm  and  twenty-five  of  our 
horses  died  and  our  cattle  scattered  considerably.  All  we 
could  do  was  to  push  them  in  the  old  trail  from  each  side 
and  let  them  drift  along.  At  this  time  our  sixteen  fat  steers 
came  in  mighty  handy,  for  when  our  supply  of  provisions 
gave  out  we  began  killing  them.  The  meat  would  freeze  in 
just  a little  while,  so  we  lived  on  nothing  but  beef  for  over  a 
month.  We  had  no  flour,  salt  or  coffee  ,and  nowhere  to 
purchase  these  things.  Only  a few  trappers  and  miners  were 
in  the  country  and  they  did  not  have  enough  to  supply  us. 
Our  horses  all  gave  out  and  we  had  to  walk  and  drive  onr 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


281 


diminishing'  herd.  We  had  plenty  of  money,  but  could  not 
buy  any  horses  because  there  were  none  to  buy,  however, 
one  day  a miner  came  along  with  eight  big  U.  S.  mules,  and 
Bill  purchased  them.  We  thought  those  big  mules  would 
relieve  our  troubles,  but  when  I saddled  one  of  them  and 
went  after  the  cattle  he  did  not  last  an  hour,  for  he  could 
not  climb  the  mountains.  We  managed  to  secure  a few 
more  horses  from  miners,  and  after  pushing  on  for  another 
ten  days  we  reached  Salt  Valley,  where  we  layed  over  for 
several  days  while  three  of  the  men  went  back  into  the 
mountains  to  gather  up  the  cattle  we  had  left,  numbering 
about  three  hundred  head.  Bill  Montgomery  pulled  on  with 
the  herd,  and  I took  a man  and  a pack  mule  and  also  went 
back  into  the  mountains  to  try  to  gather  more  of  the  miss- 
ing cattle.  I found  about  fifty  head  of  them  and  hired  a trap- 
per to  take  them  to  Ogden,  while  I and  my  man  returned  to 
overtake  the  main  herd  which  was  about  ten  days  ahead  of 
us.  We  camped  one  night  near  a big  lake  on  the  trail,  and 
next  morning  we  found  the  tracks  of  a big  grizzly  bear  in 
the  snow  within  ten  yards  of  where  we  slept.  We  had  our 
heads  covered  up  and  I suppose  he  could  not  smell  us  as  he 
passed  our  camp. 

We  did  not  overtake  the  herd  until  they  reached  Snake 
River.  There  Noah  Ellis,  who  had  taken  one  herd  on  to  the 
man  we  had  sold  to,  returned  to  us.  From  there  on  we  had 
no  trouble,  but  soon  reached  our  destination,  and  delivered 
the  cattle  to  Mr.  Shelly.  Bill  Montgomery  then  bought  one 
hundred  and  fifty  mules  from  Shelly,  paying  $7 5 to  $100 
each  for  them  and  started  them  to  Branyon  to  ship  them  to 
Missouri  where  he  expected  to  sell  them  for  good  prices.  I 
took  stage  for  Ogden  to  get  the  cattle  I had  sent  there  by 
the  trapper,  and  when  I arrived  there  I sold  the  cattle  and 
went  on  to  Branyon  to  meet  Bill.  I had  to  wait  several  days 
for  him  to  arrive,  and  when  he  got  there,  Noah  Ellis  and  I 
pulled  out  for  Texas,  arriving  at  Lockhart  on  Christmas  Eve. 

In  the  spring  of  1871  my  brother,  M.  A.  Withers,  and  1 
gathered  a herd  and  started  it  to  Kansas,  but  when  we 
reached  Belton  we  sold  the  herd  and  I returned  home. 


282 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


In  1873  M.  A.  Withers,  Bill  Montgomery  and  myself 
drove  two  herds  to  market.  I was  boss  of  one  herd,  and  a 
man  named  Page  bossed  the  other.  That  was  the  wettest 
year  I ever  saw  on  the  trail.  It  rained  all  the  time, 
and  we  had  to  swim  every  stream  from  Red  River  on, 
At  Fort  Worth  the  cook  broke  a wagon  wheel  and  after  we 
got  it  fixed  and  went  on  some  distance  further  he  broke  an- 
other wheel.  Red  River  was  on  a big  rise,  and  the  stream 
was  lined  with  herds,  for  no  herd  had  been  able  to  cross  for 
a week  or  more.  I asked  some  of  the  bosses  of  the  herds 
there  if  they  were  going  to  tackle  the  river,  and  they  said 
they  were  not,  so  I told  them  to  give  me  room  and  I would 
tackle  it,  for  I would  rather  undertake  the  crossing  than  to 
take  chances  on  a mix-up  of  the  herds.  They  all  gave  room 
and  helped  me  to  start  my  cattle  into  the  water.  1 strung 
my  herd  out,  had  them  take  the  water  several  hundred  yards 
above  where  I wanted  them  to  come  out.  I never  saw  cattle 
swim  nicer  than  those  steers;  they  kept  their  heads  and  tails 
out  of  the  water.  I ferried  my  horses  across.  We  proceeded 
on  our  way  and  when  we  reached  the  Washita  and  Canadian 
Rivers  they  were  high  also  but  as  they  were  small  streams 
we  had  no  difficulty  in  crossing  them.  Before  we  reached 
the  Arkansas  River,  I killed  a buffalo  cow  and  roped  her 
calf.  Intending  to  take  the  calf  with  me,  I necked  it  to  a 
yearling,  but  it  was  so  wild  and  stubborn  it  fought  until  it 
died. 

After  crossing  the  Arkansas  at  Great  Bend  1 pulled  on  to 
Ellsworth,  where  I found  brother  Mark  with  the  tront  herd, 
and  we  delivered  our  cattle,  sent  our  horses  back  to  Texas 
and  returned  home  by  rail. 

In  1874  I sold  all  of  my  cattle  to  Driscoll  & Day  of  Aus- 
tin, Texas. 

My  next  drive  was  in  1879,  when  1 bossed  a herd  for 
Jim  Ellison,  which  was  delivered  to  Millett  Brothers  at  their 
ranch  on  the  Brazos  River,  north  of  Fort  Griffin.  The  herd 
was  the  first  to  cross  the  Colorado  at  Webbersville.  For 
about  ten  miles  after  crossing  the  river  the  country  was 
brushy,  but  other  herds  followed  us  and  soon  made  a good 
trail  through  there.  We  went  by  way  of  Georgetown,  up 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


283 


THOMAS  M.  HODGES 


CAPT.  RICHARD  KING 


MOSE  W.  HAYS 


R.  F.  JENNINGS 


284 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


the  Gabriel,  and  on  toward  Brownwood.  Near  Brownwood 
we  turned  north,  struck  the  western  trail  near  Albany,  and 
on  to  Fort  Griffin  to  the  Millett  ranch  and  delivered  the  herd. 
When  we  started  back  with  the  horses  I received  a tele- 
gram from  Mr.  Ellison  instructing  me  to  take  stage  for 
Fort  Worth  and  hasten  home  as  he  had  another  herd  for 
me  to  take  to  Ogallala,  Nebraska.  When  I arrived  at  the 
ranch  Mr.  Ellison  had  two  herds  which  he  had  purchased 
from  Bob  Stafford  at  Columbus.  Bill  Jackman  was  to  take 
one  of  those  herds  to  the  Millett  ranch  on  the  Brazos,  so 
we  traveled  together,  and  when  we  reached  Millett’s  ranch 
he  would  not  take  the  cattle,  so  we  threw  the  two  herds 
together  and  drove  them  to  Ogallala.  We  had  5500  head 
in  this  herd,  and  it  was  the  largest  herd  ever  seen  on  the 
trail.  It  was  getting  late  in  the  season  and  water  was 
scarce.  We  had  nine  men,  besides  myself,  the  cook  and 
the  horse  rustler.  All  went  well  until  we  reached  Red 
River  ai  Doan’s  Store.  There  one  of  my  men  was  taken  sick, 
and  two  of  the  hands  quit,  leaving  me  with  only  six  men 
to  handle  the  herd.  But  we  made  it  all  right  -until  we 
reached  the  Washita  River,  which  was  the  last  water  until 
we  got  to  the  Canadian  River,  a distance  of  about  thirty 
miles.  I made  a long  drive  after  leaving  the  Washita, 
made  a dry  camp,  expecting  to  reach  the  Canadian  the  next 
day.  But  we  made  slow  progress  as  the  weather  was  hot 
and  we  were  short  three  men.  About  three  o’clock  the  next 
day  after  leaving  the  Washita  we  were  within  five  miles 
of  the  Canadian  and  the  big  herd  was  strung  out  about 
four  miles.  They  were  as  dry  as  fishes.  You  old  timers 

know  what  that  means.  We  were  going  up  a long  divide, 

the  wind  was  from  the  west,  and  about  a half  mile  west  us 
were  some  alkali  springs.  The  herd  smelled  the  water  from 
these  springs,  and  back  about  the  middle  of  the  herd  they 
began  to  break  away  and  go  for  that  water.  Right  then 
I thought  Mr.  Ellison’s  open  Y’s  would  be  scattered  clear 
to  the  Red  River.  The  old  timers  know  that  you  had  just 

as  well  try  to  handle  a bunch  of  mixed  turkeys  as  to  try 

to  keep  a thirsty  herd  away  from  water.  We  found  good 
grass  at  these  springs  and  stopped  there  for  the  night  and 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


285 


the  Indians  ran  off  thirty  head  of  them  for  us.  Next  morn- 
ing' I took  the  trail  and  went  back  about  five  miles  to  look 
for  the  cattle,  and  when  I came  up  with  them  I found  that  the 
red  rascals  had  killed  one  old  stag.  I took  the  others  back 
to  the  herd.  We  reached  the  Canadian  about  noon.  When 
1 arrived  at  Dodge  City,  Kansas,  I hired  three  men  to  help 
us  take  the  herd  on  to  Ogallala,  about  eighteen  days’  drive. 
Mr.  Ellison  met  me  at  Ogallala  and  sold  the  cattle,  to  be 
delivered  at  Sidney  Bridge  on  the  North  Platte. 

After  replenishing  our  grub  supply,  we  pulled  on  and 
struck  the  North  Platte  which  we  followed  up  to  the  Nar- 
rows. The  “Narrows”  is  a name  given  to  a ledge  of  hills 
which  run  from  the  divide  to  the  North  Platte  River.  A 
herd  cannot  be  driven  over  these  hills,  but  is  forced  to 
travel  up  the  bed  of  the  river  for  about  a mile.  The  North 
Platte  is  a treacherous  stream,  and  full  of  quicksand.  We 
had  to  send  our  chuck  wagon  around  over  the  hills,  and  it 
required  all  day  for  the  wagon  to  make  the  trip.  Just 
above  the  Narrows  in  the  valley  we  found  about  one  hun- 
dred graves,  which  I was  told  mark  the  resting  place  of 
men  killed  in  a fight  with  Indians.  From  here  we  traveled 
up  a beautiful  valley  all  the  way  to  Sidney  Bridge,  where 
we  delivered  the  cattle,  returned  to  Ogallala,  paid  off  the 
men,  and  all  hit  the  train  for  Texas. 

During  the  fall  and  winter  of  1880  I bought  cattle  in 
Bastrop  ar.d  Lee  counties  for  Mr.  Ellison.  In  the  spring  of 
that  year  I drove  another  herd  of  the  Y cattle  for  him, 
making  the  start  in  April.  This  was  a very  dry  year  on 
the  trail.  While  crossing  the  Washita  we  broke  a wagon 
wheel,  and  had  to  use  a pole  drag  for  one  hundred  and  fifty 
miles  to  Wolf  Creek.  As  there  was  no  grass  in  Kansas  and 
it  began  raining  1 layed  over  on  Wolf  Creek  and  sent  the 
wheel  fifty  miles  down  the  creek  to  have  it  fixed.  We  rest- 
ed here  two  weeks.  After  leaving  the  Canadian,  I went 
ahead  of  the  herd  about  five  miles  looking  for  grass  and 
water,  and  was  overtaken  by  about  five  hundred  Indians. 
I felt  a bit  scared  as  they  came  up,  but  they  wanted  tobacco 
and  I willingly  gave  them  all  I had  and  moved  back  to  my 
herd.  As  we  proceeded  on  our  journey  Mr.  Ellison  came  to 


286 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


meet  us  in  a buggy.  He  remained  all  night  with  us,  and  we 
slept  on  a pallet  together.  Mr.  Ellison  undressed,  but  I did 
not,  as  I always  slept  with  my  entire  outfit  on,  pants,  boots 
and  spurs,  so  as  to  be  prepared  for  any  emergency.  During 
the  night  the  cattle  made  a run,  and  when  I started  to  get 
up  one  of  my  spurs  caught  in  Mr.  Ellison’s  drawers  and  he 
was  rather  painfully  spurred.  The  next  morning  we  cut 
out  the  weakest  cattle  in  our  herd  and  Mr.  Ellison  sent  them 
back  to  his  Panhandle  ranch. 

I have  been  around  cattle  during  many  bad  nights,  but  the 
night  Otis  Ivey  was  killed  by  lightning  was  the  worst  one  1 
ever  experienced.  Ivey  and  his  horse  and  about  twenty  head 
of  cattle  were  killed  during  the  storm.  Mr.  Lytle  sent  out 
from  Dodge  after  his  body  and  had  it  sent  to  his  mother 
in  West  Fork,  Caldwell  county,  Texas.  We  often  used  lan- 
terns around  the  herds  at  night,  but  on  that  night  a lantern 
was  not  needed  for  the  lightning  flashed  so  continuously  and 
so  bright  we  could  see  everything  plainly  and  smell  burning 
brimstone  all  the  time.  When  we  reached  Dodge  we  had 
our  last  grass,  for  there  was  not  enough  on  the  range  to  feed 
a goose.  From  Fort  Dodge  to  Stinking  Water  was  usually  fif- 
teen days’  drive,  but  I made  it  that  year  in  twelve  days.  I 
would  leave  the  bed  ground  in  the  morning,  drive  until 
noon,  round  up  in  the  trail  for  two  or  three  hours,  drive  on 
until  night  and  round  up  again.  For  twelve  days  the  cattle 
had  no  grazing,  but  had  plenty  of  water.  Cattle  if  given 
plenty  of  water  can  go  a long  while  with  but  little  to  eat. 
But  unless  you  give  them  water  at  least  every  twenty-four 
hours  you  will  have  trouble.  After  reaching  Stinking  Water 
we  had  plenty  of  grass  and  water  and  we  grazed  them  on 
to  Ogallala. 

I had  to  wait  at  Ogallala  for  Sam  Moore,  for  Mr.  Ellison 
had  told  us  to  take  some  steers  to  a man  near  the  Red 
Cloud  Agency.  Bill  Jackman  came  up  and  Mr.  Ellison  told 
us  the  contract  called  for  1000  cows,  1000  yearling  steers 
and  not  less  than  700  two-year-old  steers.  He  found  us  cut- 
ting some  long  yearlings  for  twos,  and  said,  “Dick,  a Texan 
is  going  to  receive  those  cattle  and  he  knows  ones  from 
twos.”  Any  way  we  cut  and  got  our  supply,  then  pulled  out 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


287 


over  to  the  North  Platte,  up  to  Sidney  Bridge,  then  followed 
the  Deadwood  road.  When  near  the  Red  Cloud  Agency  I 
saw  my  first  Indian  buried  on  a scaffold.  I was  ahead  of  the 
herd  at  the  time,  and  saw  something  I took  for  a well,  and 
being  pretty  dry  I decided  to  go  to  it  and  get  a drink.  But 
instead  of  being  a well  it  was  a dead  Indian  on  a scaffold. 
It  was  the  custom  of  the  Indians  to  bury  in  that  fashion,  and 
everything  the  dead  Indian  had  owned  in  life  was  left  there. 
After  that  we  saw  a great  many  Indian  graves  like  that. 

Reaching  the  ranch  where  we  were  to  deliver  these  cattle 
I found  the  Texan  that  Mr.  Ellison  said  knew  one-year-old 
steers  from  twos,  and  we  went  to  work  classing  the  cattle. 
We  never  disagreed  on  a single  steer,  and  when  we  were 
through  I found  that  out  of  1000  yearlings  and  700  twos,  I 
had  delivered  800  ones  and  900  twos.  When  we  got  back 
to  Ogallala  I gave  Mr.  Ellison  the  receipt  and  after  looking  at 
it  he  said,  “Dick,  bring  all  the  boys  to  the  hotel  for  dinner,” 
and  he  paid  my  fare  home. 

Early  in  January,  1 8 8 1 , I commenced  buying  cattle  for  Mr. 
Ellison.  That  year  when  starting  up  the  trail  I went  through 
the  mountains  by  way  of  Llano  and  Brady  City.  I had 
bought  5 00  head  on  the  Colorado  near  Buffalo  Gap  and 
had  to  take  that  route  to  receive  them.  They  had  been  gath- 
ered when  I reached  there,  so  I road  branded  them  and  pulled 
out  for  Fort  Griffin,  Doan’s  Store  on  Red  River,  Dodge 
City,  and  Ogallala.  When  we  reached  Ogallala  Mr.  Ellison 
told  me  he  had  6500  cattle  he  wanted  me  to  take  to  Belle 
Fourche,  Wyoming,  deliver  them  and  bring  the  horses  back 
to  Ogallala,  sell  them,  pay  the  men  off,  and  return  home.  So 
! got  my  supplies,  pointed  the  herd  over  to  the  North  Platte, 
followed  that  stream  up  to  Sidney  Bridge,  where  we  took 
the  Deadwood  road  to  Running  Water,  then  turned  west  to 
Crazy  Woman,  thence  to  the  Cheyenne,  up  that  river  to 
Lodge  Pole,  leaving  the  Black  Hills  and  Devil’s  Tower  to 
our  right.  Then  there  was  nothing  there  but  a ranch,  but 
now  there  is  a railroad  and  the  town  of  North  Craft. 

I am  living  at  Boyes,  Montana,  now  about  one  hundred 
miles  from  where  I delivered  those  cattle  on  the  Belle  Fourche 
River  below  the  old  ranch.  I went  from  Lodge  Pole  down 


288 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


the  canyon  to  the  Belle  Fourche  River,  and  within  a week 
had  the  cattle  branded  and  delivered.  That  was  in  Sep- 
tember, and  as  some  of  the  boys  wanted  to  wash  up  before 
starting'  back  to  Ogallala,  several  of  our  outfit  went  buffalo 
hunting  and  we  killed  all  the  buffalo  we  wanted.  Those  were 
the  last  buffalo  I have  seen. 

In  1882  Mr.  Ellison  sent  me  to  East  Texas  and  Louisiana, 
to  buy  cattle  as  they  were  getting  scarce  in  our  country.  I 
bought  two  trainloads  and  shipped  them  from  Longview, 
Texas,  to  Kyle.  In  March  we  began  rounding  up  for  the 
spring  drive.  Mr.  Ellison  said  he  wanted  me  to  drive  a herd 
of  beef  cattle,  and  told  me  to  pick  out  my  remuda.  Out  of 
five  hundred  horses  I selected  ninety  head  of  the  best  that 
ever  wore  the  Y brand.  I started  on  this  trip  with  3520 
fours  and  over,  and  delivered  35o5.  Mr.  Ellison  asked  me 
just  before  we  started,  when  I would  get  to  Dodge  City.  I 
figured  awhile,  and  then  told  him  June  10th.  He  said  he 
didn’t  think  I could  make  it  by  that  date,  “But,”  he  added,  “if 
you  do,  you  can  make  it  to  Deadwood,  South  Dakota.”  He 
informed  me  that  it  was  an  Indian  contract  and  had  to  be 
made  on  time.  “You  make  it  on  time,  and  I will  pay  your 
way  home,  and  give  you  a good  suit  of  clothes,”  said  Mr. 
Ellison.  I got  my  clothes  and  my  fare  was  paid  back  home. 

That  was  the  most  enjoyable  trip  1 ever  made.  I could 
drive  as  far  in  a day  as  I wanted  to.  Those  steers  walked 
like  horses,  and  we  made  good  time  all  the  way.  Mr.  Elli- 
son went  broke  that  year. 


TWICE  ACROSS  THE  PLAINS  IN  FOURTEEN  MONTHS 

By  Joe  S.  Clark,  Orange  Grove,  Texas. 

Early  in  the  spring  of  1870  thirteen  of  the  noblest  men 
that  ever  crossed  the  plains  rounded  up  fifteen  hundred  cat- 
tle at  Flag  Springs,  near  where  the  present  town  of  Taylor 
is  located,  and  headed  them  for  California.  Everything 
went  along  well  until  we  reached  Mustang  Pens  near  the 
head  of  the  Concho  River,  where  two  of  our  boys  had  a 
shooting  scrape,  and  Ewing  was  killed.  We  continued  our 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


289 


journey  and  when  near  Grand  Falls  on  the  Pecos  River  the 
Indians  furnished  us  some  excitement.  They  tried  to  stam- 
pede our  horses  every  few  nights,  but  we  had  a strong  guard 
and  they  failed  to  get  our  stock.  We  passed  on  up  into 
New  Mexico,  going  by  way  of  Las  Cruces,  and  went  into 

camp  for  the  winter  on  the  Mimbres  River.  While  we  were 

there  we  had  a good  time  and  lots  of  sport  going  to  the 
fandangoes  and  bull  fights  and  matching  pony  races. 

In  the  spring  of  1871  five  of  us,  with  our  Spanish  mules 
hitched  to  a covered  wagon  and  two  men  on  horseback 
started  on  the  back  trail  for  home.  On  our  trip  we  saw 
many  bands  of  Indians  and  every  day  we  could  see  their 

signal  smokes  and  their  signal  fires  at  night.  They  did  not 

attempt  to  attack  us  in  the  daytime,  so  we  would  camp 
early  in  the  evening  and  allow  the  mules  to  rest,  then  as 
soon  as  darkness  enveloped  us  we  would  hitch  up  and 
drive  ten  or  fifteen  miles  and  camp  without  making  a 
fire. 

One  morning  we  drove  up  within  five  hundred  yards  of 
a big  band  of  Indians.  We  got  our  guns  and  made 
ready  for  a fight;  seeing  which  the  savages  went  away 
leaving  us  unmolested.  When  we  reached  the  Concho  and 
Colorado  Rivers  I saw  my  first  buffalo.  There  seemed  to 
thousands  of  these  animals  in  that  region  at  that  season. 

We  reached  Austin  when  the  first  railroad  was  being  built 
to  that  point,  and  I went  to  working  on  the  railroad.  After 
a few  years  of  that  kind  of  work  I turned  my  attention  to 
farming  and  ranching,  and  thus  found  more  good  sleep  and 
more  to  eat,  so  I stuck  to  the  farm.  I have  four  boys  who 
went  with  the  Stars  and  Stripes  across  the  sea,  and  were 
in  some  of  the  hottest  engagements  of  the  36th  and  90th 
Divisions,  but  they  all  got  back  home  O.  K. 


CAPTAIN  JOHN  T.  LYTLE. 

Captain  John  T.  Lytle  was  born  at  McSherry’s  Town, 
Pennsylvania,  October  8,  1844,  and  came  to  Texas  with  his 
father’s  family  in  i860.  The  family  located  in  San  Anto- 
nio, and  the  subject  of  this  sketch,  then  only  sixteen  years 


290 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


old,  went  to  work  on  the  ranch  of  his  uncle,  William  Lytle, 
fifteen  miles  southwest  of  San  Antonio.  In  1863  he  en- 
listed in  Company  H,  32nd  Texas  Cavalry,  Wood’s  Regi- 
ment, and  served  in  DeBray’s  Brigade  in  the  Trans-Missis- 
sippi Department  until  the  close  of  the  war.  After  the  sur- 
render Captain  Lytle  returned  home  and  spent  two  years  on 
his  uncle’s  ranch,  at  the  end  of  which  time  he  decided  to 
go  into  business  on  his  own  account,  engaging  in  the  ranch 
business  in  Frio  county,  until  1873.  For  more  than  fifteen 
years  he  directed  the  movement  of  thousands  of  head  of 
cattle  on  the  trail,  handling  more  than  450,000  longhorns 
and  delivering  them  in  Kansas,  Colorado,  Montana  and 
other  states  and  territories.  During  this  time  he  directed  in- 
vestments in  livestock  aggregating  $9,000,000,  a record 
never  before  equalled.  In  1875  he  disposed  of  his  ranch 
holdings  in  Frio  county,  and  leased  pastures  in  Frio  and 
Maverick  counties,  where  he  raised  stock  for  market  despite 
the  fact  that  most  of  his  time  was  taken  up  with  his  im- 
mense trail  operations.  In  this  business  Captain  Lytle  had 
three  partners,  John  W.  Light,  T.  M.  McDaniel  and  Cap- 
tain Charles  Schreiner.  The  S — L and  L — M brands  used 
by  these  firms  were  known  throughout  the  southwest. 

In  1879  Captain  Lytle  moved  to  a ranch  in  Medina  coun- 
ty, twenty-five  miles  south  of  San  Antonio,  where  he  re- 
sided until  1904,  when  he  moved  to  Fort  Worth,  and  there 
resided  until  his  death  which  occurred  in  1907. 

The  thriving  town  of  Lytle,  in  Atascosa  county,  was 
named  in  honor  of  this  remarkable  character,  who  was  uni- 
versally loved  and  admired  by  his  co-workers  in  the  live- 
stock industry  and  by  all  who  knew  him. 


ONE  OF  THE  BEST  KNOWN  TRAIL  DRIVERS 

Sketch  of  John  R.  Blocker,  of  Big  Wells,  Texas. 

The  history  of  the  old  time  trail  drivers  would  not  be 
complete  without  a sketch  of  the  above  named  gentleman, 
who  is  too  modest  to  write  of  his  experiences  on  the  trail, 
and  it  therefore  falls  to  the  lot  of  the  editor  to  perform 
this  task. 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


291 


CAPT.  JOHN  T.  LYTLE 


292 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


John  R.  Blocker  was  born  in  South  Carolina,  in  the 
Edgefield  district  of  the  Palmetto  State,  about  sixty-seven 
years  ago,  and  came  to  Texas  with  his  parents  in  1852,  lo- 
cating at  Austin,  when  that  city  was  just  a “wide  place  in 
the  road.”  He  grew  to  manhood  there,  being  educated  in 
the  schools  of  that  place,  and  in  1871  he  engaged  in  the 
cattle  business  in  Blanco  county  with  his  brother,  W.  R. 
Blocker.  At  that  early  date  Blanco  county  was  but  sparsely 
settled,  the  ranches  being  many  miles  apart,  for  it  was  truly 
on  the  frontier  and  a wild,  uncivilized  country. 

When  trail  driving  started  with  the  opening  of  the  North- 
ern markets  after  the  Civil  War,  the  Blocker  brothers  were 
among  those  to  realize  the  opportunity  afforded  the  cattle- 
men, and,  starting  with  500  head  of  stock,  they  soon  be- 
came extensively  engaged  in  the  cattle  industry.  John  R. 
Blocker,  being  a hardy,  self-reliant  young  man,  and  a good 
horseman,  was  especially  fitted  for  trail  life.  He  was  a 
good  judge  of  livestock,  and  realized  the  possibilities  that 
awaited  the  man  who  started  out  with  a determination  to 
succeed  in  the  stock  business.  His  first  drive  up  the  trail 
was  to  Ellsworth,  Kansas,  in  1873,  and  he  sold  his  herd  at 
such  a good  figure  that  he  sent  herds  every  year  from  that 
time  on  until  the  trail  closed,  driving  herds  to  Kansas,  Colo- 
rado, Nebraska,  the  Dakotas,  Wyoming  and  Montana.  One 
year,  1886,  he  was  interested  in  82,000  head  of  cattle  on 
the  trail  at  one  time,  and  on  his  last  drive  in  1893  he 
delivered  9,000  head  of  steers  to  a buyer  at  Deadwood,  South 
Dakota. 

On  one  of  his  trips,  1885,  when  he  had  25,000  steers 
on  the  drive,  he  was  held  up  at  Fort  Camp  Supply  by  Cher- 
okee and  Kansas  ranchmen,  who  refused  to  allow  him  to 
proceed  to  his  destination.  After  repeated  appeals  to  the 
War  Department,  he  succeeded  in  getting  a troop  of  cavalry 
sent  to  pilot  him  through  to  the  place  where  he  was  to 
deliver  the  cattle.  George  West,  another  prominent  cat- 
tleman of  Southwest  Texas,  was  with  Mr.  Blocker  in  this 
fight  and  won  out  with  him  in  reaching  the  market.  That 
year  the  trail  through  Kansas  was  closed,  and  stockmen 
were  forced  to  go  further  west  through  Colorado  to  get  to 


I HE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


293 


JOHN  R.  BLOCKER 


294 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


the  Northern  markets  and  ranges.  Mr.  Blocker  was  among 
the  last  to  quit  the  trail. 

In  1881  Mr.  Blocker  was  married  to  Miss  Annie  Lane,  the 
daughter  of  Dr.  and  Mrs.  R.  N.  Lane,  of  Austin,  Texas.  To 
them  were  born  four  children,  William  Bartlett  Blocker, 
Laura  Blocker,  Susie  Blocker  and  R.  Lane  Blocker. 

Shortly  after  the  organization  of  the  Texas  Cattle  Rais- 
ers’ Association,  Mr.  Blocker  became  a member  of  that  or- 
ganization, and  has  given  his  assistance  in  every  way  pos- 
sible to  the  improvement  of  the  cattle  industry  in  this  state. 

When  George  W.  Saunders  began  to  agitate  the  question 
of  organizing  of  the  old  time  trail  drivers  into  an  associa- 
tion, Mr.  Blocker  was  among  the  first  to  lend  encouragement 
to  the  plan,  and  when  organization  of  the  Old  Time  Trail 
Drivers  was  finally  perfected  he  was  unanimously  chosen  as 
its  first  president. 


T.  A.  COLEMAN 

Thomas  Atlee  Coleman  was  born  in  Goliad  county,  Texas, 
in  1861.  He  spent  his  young  manhood  in  trailing  catttle 
to  Montana  and  the  Northwestern  ranges.  Owing  to  quar- 
antine restrictions  preventing  the  driving  of  cattle  from 
South  Texas  to  those  ranges,  Mr.  Coleman  secured  ranch 
holdings  on  the  line  near  the  present  location  of  Childress, 
where  he  wintered  his  cattle  and  then  moved  them  north 
the  following  year.  It  is  estimated  that  fully  ten  thousand 
cattle  were  trailed  north  annually  on  these  drives. 

At  the  present  time  Mr.  Coleman  is  one  of  the  most 
prominent  stockmen  in  the  state,  controlling  ranches  in 
Dimmit  and  LaSalle  counties,  and  other  parts  of  the  coun- 
try. Some  years  ago  he  purchased  the  famous  Milmo  Ranch 
in  the  Republic  of  Mexico,  containing  more  than  a million 
acres,  for  which  he  paid  $3,500,000.  He  is  also  prominent 
in  the  business  and  commercial  circles  of  San  Antonio,  be- 
ing identified  with  a number  of  enterprises  in  this  city. 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


295 


GEORGE  W.  EVANS 

George  Wesley  Evans,  now  a prominent  ranchman  of  Jeff 
Davis  county,  was  horn  at  LaGrange,  Texas,  October  12, 
1849,  and  has  spent  his  life  on  the  frontier  of  this  state.  He 
resided  in  Fayette  county  until  the  early  eighties,  and  when 
that  section  began  to  settle  up  he  moved  to  the  Davis  Moun- 
tains in  Western  Texas,  where  he  has  resided  ever  since, 
following  the  stock  business  successfully,  and  becoming  one 
of  the  prominent  cattlemen  of  that  region.  As  long  as  the 
range  was  open  he  raised  the  old  Texas  long  horns  for 
market,  but  with  the  coming  of  wire  fences  he  began  to 
import  Durham  and  Hereford  bulls,  and  his  herds  of  white- 
faces  are  now  among  the  best  in  the  Southwest. 

In  1878,  Mr.  Evans  was  married  to  Miss  Kate  Isabel 
Means,  daughter  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Frank  Means  of  Lampasas 
county.  Their  children  are  William  F.,  Joe  M.,  Lee  S.,  G. 
W.  Jr.,  Rube  M.,  Ell  B.,  Paul  M.,  Katie  Grace,  and  Amos 
Graves  Means. 

Mr.  Evans  resides  at  Valentine,  Texas. 


J.  D.  JACKSON 

Joseph  Daniel  Jackson  is  another  member  of  the  Old 
Trail  Drivers’  Association  who  has  become  prominent  in  the 
cattle  industry  of  the  state,  making  his  start  during  the  old 
trail  days.  He  was  born  in  Bell  county,  Texas,  in  1861.  He 
has  been  identified  with  some  of  the  big  projects  of  the  state 
and  is  usually  found  working  for  any  movement  that  is  for 
the  betterment  of  the  cattle  industry. 

Mr.  Jackson’s  home  is  at  Alpine,  where  he  has  extensive 
ranch  holdings.  He  formerly  ranched  in  Tom  Green  and 
Taylor  counties.  At  one  time  he  owned  the  Monahan  ranch 
of  60,000  acres  in  West  Texas,  but  later  disposed  of  it  to 
Albert  Sidney  Webb.  A few  years  ago  he  controlled  three 
hundred  sections  of  land  in  Brewster  county  and  his  cowboys 
could  graze  his  cattle  a straight  thirty-five  miles  without  en- 
croaching on  the  land  of  a neighbor. 

In  December,  1889,  Mr.  Jackson  was  married  to  Miss 
Dorcas  Ford,  daughter  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Isaac  Ford  of  Hoi- 


296 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


land,  Bell  county,  Texas.  They  have  two  children,  Miss  Una 
Jackson  and  Ford  Jackson. 


JOHN  Z.  MEANS. 

Away  out  in  Jeff  Davis  county,  Texas,  there  resides  an  old 
trail  driver  and  cowman,  who  has  achieved  success  in  his 
chosen  field  of  operations.  That  man  is  John  Z.  Means, 
known  all  over  West  Texas,  as  “the  mildest  mannered  gen- 
tleman that  ever  drove  a cow.” 

John  Means  was  born  at  old  Fort  McKavett,  in  Menard 
county,  Texas,  in  1854,  when  that  town  was  occupied  by 
soldiers  to  check  the  raids  of  Indians.  He  grew  to  manhood 
in  that  part  of  the  state,  and  did  his  full  share  in  the  work 
or  ridding  the  West  of  the  outlaw  and  the  cattle  rustler. 
For  many  years  he  lived  in  Lampasas  county,  but  with  the 
encroachment  of  the  fence  builder  and  the  farmer  he  moved 
further  west,  where  he  acquired  extensive  holdings  in  Jeff 
Davis  and  other  counties,  and  today  is  rated  as  one  of  the 
wealthy  men  of  that  section. 

In  November,  1877,  he  was  married  to  Miss  Exie  Gay 
of  San  Saba,  the  daughter  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Sam  A.  Gay, 
and  to  them  were  born  seven  children,  who  have  taken 
prominent  places  in  the  social  and  business  life  of  the  state. 


COWBOY  LIFE  IN  WEST  TEXAS 

A few  years  ago  John  J.  Lomax,  the  author  of  several 
books  bearing  on  the  life  of  the  cowboys  and  cattlemen  of 
Texas,  made  an  address  before  a fokelore  society  meeting 
at  San  Marcos. 

While  it  is  true  that  there  are  many  changes  in  the  cattle 
country — as  witness  the  introduction  and  general  use  of  the 
automobile  where  a few  years  ago  the  big  camp  meetings  or 
neighborhood  gatherings  saw  the  “ambulances”  or  “buggies” 
or  “buckboards” — sufficient  of  the  picturesque  old’  life  re- 
mains in  Southwest  and  West  Texas  to  give  a vivid  idea  of 
how  it  was  in  the  days  of  the  trail.  He  drew  this  picture  of 
the  Texas  cowboy,  his  speech  and  mode  of  living: 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


297 


Prior  to  taking  a herd  of  cattle  up  the  trail  from  Texas 
to  Montana  or  the  Dakotas,  occurred  the  spring  roundup, 
which  might  include  a range  of  country  100  miles  in  diame- 
ter. Of  course,  in  such  a stretch  of  land  there  would  be  a 
number  of  cattle  owners.  These  would  all  join  forces,  and 
after  days  of  hard  riding  would  bring  together  in  a single  herd 
all  the  cattle  running  on  this  range.  On  this  roundup  ground 
the  cattle  are  “worked;”  that  is,  the  calves  following  their 
mothers  are  branded  and  marked  with  the  decorations  em- 
ployed by  their  owners,  or  they  are  cut  into  groups  either 
for  purposes  of  sale  or  for  further  identification.  Those  cut 
out  are  called  the  “cut;”  the  specially  trained  horses  used 
for  this  work,  so  intelligent  that  you  can  remove  the  bridle 
after  the  animal  to  be  cut  out  is  indicated,  and  the  horse  will 
separate  the  cow  from  the  bunch  with  unerring  instinct,  are 
called  “cutting  horses,”  “carving  horses”  or  “chopping- 
horses.”  When  fences  became  more  common  the  calves  were 
cut  out  through  a cutting  chute  or  “dodged  out”  so  they 
could  be  counted.  Some  cattlemen  now  employ  a branding- 
chute  where  an  arrangement  for  holding  the  cattle  while 
they  are  being  branded  is  called  a “squeezer”  or  “snappin’ 
turtle.”  In  branding  cattle,  a cowboy,  after  the  rope  has 
dragged  the  animal  near  the  fire,  throws  him  by  “tailing”  or 
“flanking.”  “Flanking”  consists  in  seizing  the  animal  by  the 
skin  of  the  flank  opposite  to  the  cowboy,  with  his  arm  thrown 
over  the  animal’s  back;  when  the  animal  jumps  with  all  four 
feet  off  the  ground,  the  cowboy  by  a jerk  throws  it  on  its 
side;  or  he  “bulldogs”  them  by  twisting  the  neck,  or  “tails” 
him  by  giving  a sudden  jerk  on  the  tail  when  some  of  the 
animal’s  feet  are  off  the  ground.  I once  saw  a cowboy 
“flank”  a calf  in  such  a fashion  that  he  threw  him  completely 
on  his  back  with  all  four  feet  in  the  air.  “See  him  sun  his 
moccasins,”  said  another  cowboy  who  stood  near.  When 
the  flanker  and  assistants  have  the  animals  stretched  on  the 
ground,  they  call  out  “hot  iron”  or  “sharp  knife,”  the  brander 
responding,  “Right  here  with  the  goods.”  Ordinarily  the 
brand  is  put  on  by  stamping  with  an  iron  stamp  carrying  one, 
two  or  three  letters,  and  the  different  brands  and  marks  em- 
ployed, like  “Flying  U”  and  the  “Lazy  S,”  are  so  various 


298 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


as  to  require  a separate  paper  to  give  them  adequate  descrip- 
tion. A “running  iron”  is  a branding  iron  made  of  a straight 
piece  of  iron  with  a curve  at  one  end.  This  end  is  heated  red 
hot  and  the  branding  artist  is  thus  enabled  to  “run”  any  let- 
ter he  wishes  to  put  on  the  side  of  the  animal.  Some  of  the 
terms  used  in  marking  are  “crop,”  “under  bit,”  “over  bit,” 
“half  crop,”  “split,”  “over  slope,”  “underslope,”  etc.  A 
“jingle  bob”  is  to  split  the  ear  to  the  head  and  let  the  pieces 
flap.  A jud  handled  “dewlap”  is  a cut  in  the  fleshy  part  of 
the  throat,  also  used  sometimes  as  a mark  of  distinction. 
Roping  a cow  is  sometimes  referred  to  as  “putting  your  string 
on  her.”  If  a cowboy  ropes  a cow  without  hitching  the  rope 
to  the  saddle,  “ he  takes  a dolly  welter,”  evidently  a corrup- 
tion of  the  Spanish.  To  “fair  ground”  is  to  rope  an  animal 
by  the  head,  throw  the  rope  over  the  back  while  still  run- 
ning and  then  throw  the  animal  violently  to  the  ground, 
where  it  will  usually  lay  until  “hog  tied;”  tying  three  feet  to- 
gether, “side  lined,”  tying  two  feet  together  on  the  same 
side,  or  “hoppled,”  both  hind  legs  tied  together.  To  tell  the 
age  of  an  animal,  the  cowboy  “tooths”  him,  meaning  to 
make  an  examination  of  the  teeth,  as  is  commonly  done  in 
the  case  of  horses,  which  gives  fairly  accurate  indication  of 
their  ages. 

In  a cattle  outfit  the  owner  is  called  the  “big  boss,”  the 
leader  of  any  particular  bunch  of  men  is  called  the  “boss,” 
his  first  lieutenant  is  called  the  “straw  boss”  or  right-hand 
man,  sometimes  called  the  “top  screw”  or  “top  waddy.”  The 
chief  of  any  group  of  line  riders  is  a “line  boss,”  while  the 
boss  of  a herd  on  the  trail  is  the  “trail  boss.”  Ordinarily, 
a cowboy  is  a “waddy”  or  “screw”  or  “buckaroo.”  A green 
cow  hand  is  called  a “lent,”  and  his  greenness  is  expressed 
by  the  word  “lenty.”  He  is  also  sometimes  called  “Ar- 
buckle,”  on  the  assumption  that  the  boss  sent  off  Arbuckle 
premium  stamps  to  pay  for  the  extraordinary  services  of  the 
greenhorn.  The  “stray  man”  is  the  cowboy’s  name  for  one 
who  goes  to  the  neighboring  ranches  after  stray  cattle. 
The  “fence  rider,’”  also  called  the  “line  rider,”  is  employed 
to  ride  fences  and  repair  them.  Before  the  days  of  fences, 
line  riding  was  following  an  imaginary  line  between  two 


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299 


ranches  and  turning'  the  cattle  back.  The  “line  rider”  has 
charge  of  a “line  camp.”  In  addition  to  the  “chuck  wagon,” 
a second  wagon  for  carrying  the  extra  beds  and  bringing 
wood  and  water  into  camps  sometimes  goes  along.  This 
equipage  is  called  the  hoodlum  wagon  and  the  man  who 
drives  it  is  “the  hood.”  The  cabin  where  the  bachelor  cow- 
boys sometimes  sleep  in  very  bad  weather  is  called  a 
“hooden.”  A “bog  rider”  is  the  cowboy  who  “tails”  up  the 
poor  cows  which  get  stuck  in  the  mud.  The  “chuck  wa- 
gon” is  the  cowboy’s  home;  the  chuck  box  is  his  store; 
the  chuck  box  lid  his  table.  After  a meal,  if  a luck- 
less cowboy  happens  to  put  his  tin  plate  and  cup  on  the 
chuck  box  lid  instead  of  the  “round  pan”  (a  tin  tub 
for  dishes),  this  constitutes  a “leggins  case;”  that  is,  he  is 
laid  over  a barrel  and  treated  to  a dose  of  leggins  in  the 
hands  of  the  most  athletic  cowboy.  The  chief  man  about 
the  camp  is  the  cook,  his  pay  usually  equaling  that  of  any 
of  the  men,  and  his  expertness  in  preparing  food  remark- 
able when  one  considers  his  cook-stove,  a hole  in  the  ground, 
and  his  cooking  utensils  skillets  and  pots.  Naturally,  the 
cook  has  many  names  applied  to  him.  He  is  called  a 
“sheffi,”  “dough  roller,”  “dinero,”  “coocy”  and  “biscuit 
shooter.”  His  invariable  cry  when  calling  the  men  to  a 
meal  is,  “Come  and  git  it!” 

I think  I may  claim  that  these  few  samples  of  cowboy 
lingo  are  characterized  by  simplicity,  strength  and  directness, 
and,  it  may  be  added,  accuracy.  I knew  a saloon  once  in  the 
West  known  as  “The  Wolf;”  another  that  was  aptly  named 
with  a big  flaring  sign  on  the  outside,  “The  Road  to  Ruin.” 
Out  in  Arizona  there  is  a town  called  Tombstone,  and  the 
leading  paper  of  that  town  has  named  itself  the  Tombstone 
Epitaph.  Let  me  add  a few  of  his  miscellaneous  expressions. 
Of  a tall  man  he  does  not  like,  the  cowboy  says  “He’s  just 
as  long  as  a snake  and  he  drags  the  ground  when  he  walks.” 
Of  a fool  he  says,  “He  has  no  more  sense  than  a little  nigger 
with  a big  navel,”  or  “He  don’t  know  dung  from  wild  honey.” 
Although  a cow  is  one  of  the  most  stupid  of  animals,  when 
a cowboy  says  that  a man  has  good  “cow  sense”  he  means 
to  pay  him  a high  compliment.  When  he  means  a thing  is 


300 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


easy,  he  says  “It’s  just  as  easy  as  gutting  a slut;”  of  wash- 
ing his  face,  “bathing  out  your  countenance”  or  “washing  the 
profile;”  of  bathing,  “washing  out  your  canyon;”  of  vomiting, 
“airing  the  paunch”;  an  “eye-baller”  is  a person  who  pokes 
himself  into  other  people’s  business;  going  courting  is  “goin’ 
gallin’,”  “sitting  the  bag,”  “sittin’  her”;  “cutting  a rusty” 
means  doing  your  best;  moving  fast  is  “faggin’,  “leffin’  here” 
or  “sailing  away,”  “dragging  his  navel  in  the  sand”;  “goin’ 
like  the  heel  flies  are  after  him.”  A very  small  town  is  a 
wide  place  in  the  road.  A “two  gun  man”  is  a man  who 
uses  a gun  in  each  hand,  often  at  the  same  time.  A man 
quick  to  retort  is  said  to  have  a “good  come  back.”  “Telling 
a windy”  means  telling  a boastful  story;  a “goosy”  man  is 
a man  physically  nervous.  When  a man  plays  the  deuce 
spot  in  a card  game,  he  is  said  to  be  “laying  down  his  char- 
acter.” To  “fork  a horse”  is  to  ride  him;  when  a man  is 
without  information  on  a subject,  he  tells  you:  “I  ain’t  got 
any  medicine”;  “anti-godlin”  means  going  diagonally  or  in  a 
roundabout  way.  The  “roustabout”  is  a man  of  all  work 
about  a camp.  “Sweating  a game”  means  doing  nothing 
but  sitting  around  looking  at  a card  game.  “Tie  your  hats 
to  the  saddle  and  let’s  ride”  means  go  on  a long  hurry-up 
roundup.  The  boss’  house  is  referred  to  as  the  “White 
House.”  When  a fellow  makes  a night  of  it,  he  is  said  to 
have  “stayed  out  with  the  dry  cattle.”  When  a delicate  sit- 
uation arises  there  is  said  to  be  “hair  in  the  butter.”  The 
water  on  the  plains  is  sometimes  so  muddy  that  the  cowboy 
says  “he  has  to  chew  it  before  he  can  swallow  it.”  When 
he  has  gained  a little  more  experience  on  a proposition,  he 
says  he  “has  taken  a little  more  hair  off  the  dog.”  When 
there  is  room  for  doubt  about  his  knowledge  he  is  said  to 
know  as  much  about  it  as  “a  hog  does  about  a side  saddle.” 
A man  who  is  good  at  roping  is  said  to  “sling  the  catgut 
well.”  Damp,  freezing  weather  is  characterized  as  cold  as 
“a  well  digger  in  Montana.”  Riding  on  a freight  train  in 
place  of  paying  regular  fare  on  a passenger  train  is  said  to 
be  “saving  money  for  the  bartender.”  Ordinary  stealing  is 
“yamping.”  “Plumb  locoed”  is  quite  crazy.  A very  black 
negro  is  characterized  as  a “headlight  to  a snowstorm.” 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


301 


Living  in  isolated  groups,  visiting  but  little  except  among 
these  groups,  rarely  going  to  town,  shy  and  timid  as  a result 
of  long  days  of  solitude  the  cowboy  develops  his  own  form 
of  speech.  Cowboy  words,  phrases  and  customs  therefore 
easily  become  community  property — his  language  a dialect 
of  his  own.  In  closing  this  paper  I can  not  refrain  from  giv- 
ing you  one  or  two  cowboy  graces  repeated  indiscriminately 
either  before  or  during  a meal,  and  I shall  end  finally  with 
some  of  his  most  characteristic  dance  calls.  On  some  fu- 
ture occasion,  if  1 am  invited,  and  if  1 am  provided  with 
just  the  right  kind  of  an  audience,  I engage  myself  to  read  a 
paper  on  cowboy  profanity.  There  is  a certain  wholesome 
strength,  cleanliness  and  variety  in  his  profanity,  and  even 
his  vulgarity,  that  1 do  not  believe  is  equalled  by  any  other 
race  of  men.  The  rhyme  dance  calls  are  supplementary  to 
his  spoken  directions  to  the  dancers,  and  add  almost  as 
much  interest  and  loveliness  of  the  dance  as  does  the  music. 
Here  are  two  cowboy  graces: 

“Eat  the  meat  and  leave  the  skin; 

Turn  up  your  plate  and  let’s  begin.” 


Yes,  we’ll  come  to  the  table 
As  long  as  we’re  able, 

And  eat  every  damn  thing 
That  looks  sorter  stable. 


The  rhymed  dance  calls  are  chanted  between  the  shorter 
calls  and  are  supplementary  to  them: 

Swing  your  partners  round  and  round; 

Pocket  full  of  rocks  to  hold  me  down; 

Ducks  in  the  river  going  to  ford 
Coffee  in  a little  rag;  sugar  in  the  gourd. 

Swing  ’em  early,  swing  ’em  late; 

Swing  ’em  round  Mr.  Meadow’s  gate.  i 

'I 

Ladies  to  the  center,  how  do  you  do; 

Right  hands  cross,  and  how  are  you! 


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THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


Two  little  ladies,  do  si  do, 

Two  little  gents  you  orter  know. 

Swing  six  when  you  all  get  fixed, 

Do  si,  ladies  like  picking  up  sticks. 

Chicken  in  the  bread  tray  kicking  up  dough; 
“Granny,  will  your  dog  bite?”  “No, by  Joe.” 

Swing  corners  all, 

Now  your  pardner  and  promenade  the  hall. 

You  swing  me,  and  I’ll  swing  you; 

All  go  to  heaven  in  the  same  old  shoe. 

Same  old  road,  same  old  boy, 

Dance  six  weeks  in  Arkansaw. 

Walk  the  huckleberry  shuffle  and  Chinese  cling. 
Elbow  twist  and  double  L swing, 


DAYS  GONE  BY. 

By  Hiram  G.  Craig,  of  Brenham. 

It  was  in  the  year  of  1 8 5 0 that  my  father  and  mother, 
John  and  Caroline  Craig,  decided  to  make  their  home  in 
that  great  state  of  the  future — Texas.  Suiting  the  words 

with  action  they  hitched  up  their  two  bay,  bald-faced  mares 
to  the  wagon  taking  such  belongings  as  were  absolutely  nec- 
essary and  started  on  the  long  and  perilous  journey  from 
Tennessee  to  Texas.  Their  destination  was  Washington 
county,  and  they  landed  in  the  western  part,  in  a neighbor- 
hood called  Sandtown — so  named  by  my  uncle. 

My  parents  must  have  suffered  many  hardships  in  those 
days  of  privations,  raising  as  they  did,  a large  family  of  seven 
boys  and  two  girls.  My  father  was  a teamster.  He  hauled 
freight  with  an  ox-team  from  Houston  to  Austin,  hauled  cot- 
ton from  Washington  county  to  Brownsville,  on  the  Rio 
Grande,  and  hauled  salt,  loose  in  the  wagon-bed  on  his  way 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


303 


back  from  the  King'  ranch,  home.  He  made  several  trips 
to  Brownsville;  also,  one  to  Eagle  Pass,  Texas. 

I remember  one  trip  I made  with  him  from  our  home  to 
Allerton,  Colorado  county.  This  was  our  nearest  railroad 
station,  and  at  that  time  the  terminus  of  the  Southern  Pa- 
fic  railway.  We  were  hauling  cotton.  In  those  days  wagons 
had  wooden  axles  with  an  iron  skean,  and  lynch-pins  to 
hold  the  wheels  on  the  axle. 

On  these  trips  father  would  take  one  horse  along  to  round* 
up  the  oxen.  At  night,  or  when  camping  he  would  have  a 
bell  for  each  yoke  of  oxen,  would  neck  them  and  put  a hob- 
ble on  one  of  the  oxen  of  each  yoke.  I made  a number  of 
short  trips  with  my  father  as  I could  be  of  some  help  in 
rounding  up  the  oxen  and  hold  them  while  he  put  the  yoke 
on  them.  Often  he  would  also  be  breaking  in  a yoke  or  two 
of  wild  oxen.  On  this  particular  trip  when  we  got  as  far 
as  Frelsburg  where  we  broke  an  axle,  and  as  there  were 
few  people  living  in  the  country  at  that  time  we  were  in  a 
bad  way.  No  houses,  no  tools  to  work  with,  not  a black- 
smith within  twenty  miles.  Here  my  father  accomplished 
something,  that  nine  men  out  of  ten  of  these  days  and  times 
would  fail  in.  The  only  tool  at  hand  was  an  axe.  With  this 
axe  father  cut  down  a hickory  tree,  cut  it  the  proper  length, 
and  with  the  axe  hewed  out  an  axle.  He  got  on  his  horse 
and  rode  to  the  next  neighbor  where  he  got  an  auger.  At 
that  time  such  a thing  as  a “brace  and  bit”  were  unheard  of. 
With  the  auger  he  bored  the  holes  for  the  hound  and  skean, 
and  put  the  wagon  together.  He  unloaded  and  loaded  the 
cotton  by  himself,  as  I was  too  small  to  do  any  lifting.  We 
wound  up  our  trip  by  delivering  the  cotton  to  the  railway 
company  and  returned  home  to  Washington  county. 

1 used  to  plow  many,  many  a day  with  a single  ox  and  a 
plow,  made  entirely  of  wood;  with  exception  of  the  point, 
which  was  of  iron.  Even,  the  mole-board  (the  part  that 
turns  the  dirt)  was  of  timber.  Father  would  cut  a short 
piece  of  some  twisted  oak  tree,  split  it  open — which  would 
almost  have  the  shape,  then  hew  it  down  to  fit  the  point 
of  iron,  and  attach  the  handles  with  wooden  pins — and  the 
plow  would  work  fine. 


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THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


A word  about  my  dear  mother:  During  the  Civil  War 

such  things  as  clothing,  shoes,  flour,  salt,  sugar  and  coffee 
were  scarce  and  high — very  often  not  to  be  had  at  any  price. 
Flour  was  selling  at  twenty  dollars  per  barrel.  Mother,  my 
oldest  sister  and  my  second  oldest  brother,  carded  the  roll, 
and  mother  spun  the  thread  that  made  our  clothes,  during  the 
war.  The  work  allotted  to  me  was  to  hand  the  threads 
through  the  sleigh — at  which  I became  quite  an  expert.  If 
these  threads,  in  any  way,  became  crossed  they  would  not 
weave.  Often  mother  would  send  me  to  the  neighbor  ladies 
to  help  them  with  this  line  of  work.  I also  peeled  the  black- 
jack bark  and  gathered  the  wild  indigo  to  dye  the  cloth,  that 
made  our  clothes.  My  second  oldest  brother  was  a cripple 
and  could  not  work  in  the  field,  so  mother  kept  him  in  to 
help  her  with  the  weaving.  In  my  mind  I can  still  see  my 
mother  at  the  old  spinning  wheel. 

The  young  people  of  today  do  not  realize  what  “hard 
times”  are.  Imagine,  that  most  of  the  flour  you  were  to 
see  would  be  a feast  of  biscuits  on  a Sunday  morning  for 
breakfast,  and,  then  some  more  the  next  Sunday  morning. 
Imagine,  for  your  coffee  a substitute  of  corn,  roasted  potato 
peeling  and  corn-meal  bran.  These  were  some  of  our  lux- 
uries. Of  meats  we  were  more  bountifully  blessed.  Cattle 
were  more  plentiful  and  cheap;  pork  was  more  abundant. 
Hogs  were  running  loose  in  the  woods,  and  the  mast  was  so 
good  that  hogs  were  generally  fat  in  winter. 

Father  died  at  Bellville,  Texas,  at  the  age  of  fifty-four;  and 
mother  died  in  Washington  county,  at  the  age  of  forty-four, 
This  left  the  family  in  the  hands  of  my  oldest  brother,  who 
faithfully  and  conscientiously  administered  to  our  wants  un- 
til we  were  able  to  take  care  of  ourselves. 

1 was  born  at  Sandtown  in  1855,  and  lived  here  with  my 
parents  to  the  end  of  the  Civil  War,  when  we  moved  to 
Bellville,  Austin  County,  Texas.  Father  was  the  proud  pos- 
sessor of  a small  bunch  of  cattle,  and  created  a desire  in  me 
to  be  a cowboy — to  have  a good  horse,  saddle,  leggings, 
spurs  and  to  handle  cattle.  At  fourteen  years  of  age  I ran 
away  from  home,  and  went  to  work  for  Foster  Dyer  of 
Richmond,  known  as  one  of  the  biggest  ranch  owners  of  that 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


305 


S.  B.  BRITE 


JOHN  LITTLE 


COLEY  LYONS 


JIM  WILSON 


306 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


time.  I was  proud  of  my  job  which,  nowever,  wts  of  short 
duration.  My  brother  learned  of  my  whereabouts  and  came 
and  took  me  home.  I remained  at  home  with  my  parents 
for  three  years,  when  the  call  to  the  “wild”  again  over- 
came me. 

This  time  it  was  T.  J.  Carter,  who  was  studying  to  be  a 
doctor,  and  I,  that  went  on  a wild  goose  chase  in  1872.  We 
landed  at  Sweet  Home  and  hired  out  to  George  West,  to  help 
gather  a herd  of  steers  for  the  trail  for  Kansas.  We  gath- 
ered between  1500  to  2000  head  of  steers.  There  were  no 
pens,  or  corrals,  to  hold  such  a large  herd.  We  held  and 
herded  these  steers  on  the  prairie  by  day  and  by  night.  The 
boys  would  herd  them  in  shifts,  or  reliefs;  one  shift  of  men 
would  herd  them  from  four  to  six  hours  (according  to  the 
number  of  shifts),  when  the  next  shift  would  relieve  them, 
so  that  the  cattle  would  be  continually  guarded.  This  work 
is  hard  and  trying,  and  at  our  age  seemed  severe;  however, 
we  stayed  with  the  herd  until  they  were  actually  started  on 
the  trail,  and  then  went  home  to  Washington  county.  Carter 
went  back  to  his  profession,  and  is  today  a practicing  physi- 
cian in  Fayette  county,  having  made  good. 

In  the  fall  of  1873,  J.  D.  McClellan  and  I went  to  Oak- 
ville, Live  Oak  county,  and  worked  for  Andrew  Nations  and 
his  son,  Bob  Nations,  helping  them  gather  1500  stocker  cat- 
tle, to  be  moved  to  the  Wichitas.  Our  headquarters  were  at 
Sulphur  Creek,  about  ten  miles  north  of  Oakville.  We  gath- 
ered up  and  down  the  Nueces  River,  as  far  down  as  Lagarto. 
We  were  short  of  cow-hands — who  were  hard  to  get.  Bob 
Nations  decided  to  make  a trip  to  San  Antonio  and  get  the 
necessary  supplement  of  men.  The  best  he  could  do  was  to 
get  a bunch  of  “brakemen,”  as  he  called  them.  These  men 
were  no  good  at  riding  or  at  handling  cattle,  being  unac- 
customed to  the  work.  We  were  holding  the  herd  on  a prai- 
rie near  the  Nueces  River  bottom.  The  cattle  were  wild  and 
some  of  them  would  make  a break  every  now  and  then,  and, 
as  sure  as  an  animal  would  make  a run  the  trained  cowpony, 
with  his  “brakeman,”  would  take  after  it — and  we  would 
be  minus  a “brakeman.” 


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307 


Tom  Johnson  was  our  trail  boss;  he  was  one  of  the  best 
men  I ev.r  knew,  when  it  came  to  handling  stock  cattle  on 
the  trail.  He  taught  me  every  detail  in  “grazing”  a herd. 
Johnson  was  very  fractious  and  hard  to  get  along  with,  and 
Bob  Nations  said  he  doubted  very  much  in  our  going  through 
on  the  trip  with  Johnson. 

The  herd  was  started  early  in  the  spring  with  Johnson  as 
foreman,  everything  progressing  nicely.  We  were  obliged 
to  swim  all  the  rivers  on  account  of  heavy  spring  rains,  but 
suffered  no  loss  of  cattle.  We  reached  Lockhart,  and  then 
Onion  Creek,  near  Austin.  Here  at  Onion  Creek  we  had  a 
little  stampede,  for  which  I was  blamed.  It  brought  on  words 
between  the  foreman  and  I.  Naturally,  I was  discharged  and 
McClellan  quit. 

Bob  took  McClellan  and  me  on  to  Austin,  and  asked  us  to 
accompany  him  and  his  family  west,  and  assured  us  work  as 
long  as  we  cared  to  stay.  As  he  started  out  of  Austin,  we 
told  him  we  would  overtake  him  on  the  way  later.  But, 
alas!  there  was  a drawing  card  back  home,  in  Washington 
county,  that  was  stronger  than  even  a promise.  McClellan 
had  a girl  there,  and  so  did  I,  so  we  went  home. 

That  summer  J.  W.  Nunn  bought  out  a meat  market  in 
Brenham  and  McClellan  went  to  work  for  him,  while  I did 
the  buying  and  supplying  of  live  stock  for  the  market.  Mc- 
Clellan lived  only  three  months  after  that,  leaving  me  with- 
out a pal.  I continued  working  for  Nunn. 

In  June,  1876,  we  gathered  about  1400  head  of  Nunn’s 
cattle,  and  started  for  the  Plains.  We  left  Dime  Box,  Lee 
county,  June  10,  1876.  We  herded  the  cattle  on  the  first 
night  at  Lexington,  Lee  county,  in  a wide  lane.  The  second 
night  we  camped  near  Beaukis  in  the  woods.  There  were 
two  of  the  Nunn  boys,  both  much  older  than  1,  but  neither 
they,  or  any  of  the  other  hands,  had  ever  “bedded”  a herd. 
It  was  up  to  me  to  take  charge  of  my  first  large  herd.  We 
rounded  the  cattle  into  a circle  in  the  woods,  dragging  logs 
around  the  bed  grounds  and  built  fires.  There  were  clouds 
rising  and  about  1 1 o’clock  that  night  it  began  thundering, 
lightning  and  raining.  The  cattle  got  restless  and  stampeded, 
running  all  night.  The  third  day  we  crossed  the  Brushy 


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THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


Creek,  camping  near  the  Olive  pens  on  the  Taylor  prairie. 
From  here  on  we  had  plenty  of  open  country  and  could 
handle  the  herd  more  easily.  We  had  many  ups  and  downs, 
being  short  of  horses.  Our  horses  got  very  poor  and  were 
worn  out  from  overwork;  also  the  cattle  got  thin  in  flesh  by 
the  time  we  got  to  Buffalo  Gap  in  July  and  we  were  also  out 
of  provisions,  no  beef,  no  coffee,  no  money.  Nunn  borrowed 
a small  sum  from  one  Ben  Anderson,  one  of  our  hands,  and 
started  me  off  with  one  yoke  of  oxen  for  Coleman  City,  sixty 
miles  distant,  to  lay  in  a supply  of  “grub.” 

I bought  mostly  breadstuff  and  coffee,  returning  to  camp  a 
week  later.  This  left  us  still  shy  of  meat,  our  cattle  being  too 
poor  for  slaughter.  We  were  told  that  fifty  or  sixty  miles  west 
there  were  lots  of  buffalo,  so  Nunn  got  us  to  rig  up  a wagon 
and  to  go  on  to  the  Sweetwater  Creek  to  kill  some  fat  buf- 
falo. We  engaged  a man  by  the  name  of  Jim  Green  at  Buf- 
falo Gap,  who  was  a buffalo  hunter  and  he  was  to  pilot  us  to 
the  Sweetwater  country,  and  incidentally  give  us  a few 
pointers  on  buffalo  hunting.  Dr.  John  Obar,  J.  T.  McClel- 
lan (a  brother  of  my  former  pal),  Jim  Green  and  1 formed 
the  outfit.  We  went  to  Sweetwater,  camping  near  Dan 
Trent’s  ranch,  and  hunted  here  for  two  days  and  only  saw 
two  buffalo  bulls  in  this  time.  The  first  bull  1 chased  until 
my  horse  gave  out,  shot  away  all  my  ammunition,  and  only 
drew  a little  blood. 

It  will  not  be  amiss  to  state  what  our  artillery  consisted  of 
at  that  time.  We  used  the  long  and  trusty  cap  and  ball 
rifle,  familiarly  known  as  “Long  Tom.”  Then  the  old  cap 
and  ball  sixshooter,  sometimes  called  “outlaws.”  At  times 
they  would  behave  and  fire  one  shot,  and  again  they  would 
fire  two,  three,  or  possibly  all  six  chambers  at  one  time.  But 
to  revert  to  our  buffalo  hunt: 

On  the  second  day  we  found  another  old,  poor  buffalo  bull. 
I handed  my  long  rifle  to  one  of  the  boys,  and  took  his 
sixshooter,  and  told  them  1 was  going  to  get  meat,  in  which 
I eventually  succeeded.  I was  riding  my  own  horse,  one 
that  I had  bought  from  one  of  my  German  friends  in  Wash- 
ington county.  I had  named  him  “Dutch,”  had  taken  good 
care  of  this  horse,  using  him  only  for  night  herding  on  the 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


309 


trail,  and  so  he  was  in  good  trim.  He  was  a keen  runner. 
I took  after  the  buffalo  bull,  ran  him  about  three  miles, 
emptying'  my  pistol  as  1 chased  him.  He  was  a monster  and 
looked  like  an  elephant  to  me.  Some  of  the  buffalo  hunters 
claimed  that  our  “outlaw”  pistols  would  not  kill  a big  buf- 
falo bull,  but  I demonstrated  that  they  were  wrong  for  I 
put  one  ball  in  the  right  place,  and  stopped  the  bull.  After 
a bit  the  boys  came  up  and  finished  the  animal  with  their 
“Long  Tom”  rifle.  It  took  two  horses  by  the  horn  of  the 
saddle  to  turn  the  carcass  of  the  bull  on  his  back  so  we 
could  skin  him.  This  will  give  you  an  idea  that  he  was 
some  bull.  We  built  a fire  and  kiln-dried  the  meat.  It  was 
not  fat,  nor  what  we  wanted. 

We  broke  camp  and  drifted  ten  miles  further  north,  where 
we  came  on  to  a herd,  which  we  estimated  at  about  1000 
head.  This  herd  of  buffalo  was  on  the  move,  and  going 
pretty  rapidly.  When  I first  got  sight  of  them  they  were 
traveling  west;  they  would  go  down  hill  on  the  run,  while 
up  the  incline  of  the  next  hill  they  would  be  grazing.  1 rode 
around  the  foot  of  the  hill  to  head  them  off  and  when  I 
reached  the  ridge  of  the  hill  they  were  coming  towards  me, 
and  about  the  same  time  I heard  some  shooting,  which  later 
proved  to  be  our  pilot,  Jim  Green,  who  had  already  got  into 
the  herd  and  put  them  on  a full  run.  I had  some  trouble 
holding  down  old  “Dutch”  my  horse,  when  the  herd  of  buf- 
falo came  towards  us  on  the  run.  There  was  one  big  red 
one,  leading  the  herd.  1 killed  him  first.  He  proved  to  be 
a big  red  steer,  instead  of  a buffalo,  and  belonged  to  John 
Chissum.  I then  killed  one  fat  buffalo.  As  1 came  over  the 
hill  I came  on  to  our  pilot,  who  had  shot  down  five,  of  which 
one  got  up  on  his  feet  and  was  making  for  Jim  Green  who, 
by  the  way,  was  afoot.  I tried  to  get  Green  to  get  on  the 
horse  behind  me.  He  declined,  saying  he  “would  get  him 
in  the  sticking  place  directly,”  deliberately  shooting  at  the 
buffalo  as  he  came  on.  He  was  holding  his  sixshooter  with 
both  hands  to  steady  his  aim  and  downed  him.  This  gave 
us  six  buffalo  and  one  fat  steer,  with  which  we  struck  out 
for  Buffalo  Gap. 


310 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


Another  little  stunt  with  a buffalo  we  pulled  off  while  at 
Buffalo  Gap.  Don  Drewry  and  1 were  riding  out  among  the 
cattle,  where  we  came  on  to  a two-year-old  buffalo  bull. 
Don  boasted  that  he  could,  and  would  rope  him.  1 pleaded 
with  him  not  to  risk  such  a thing  but  he  declared  “old 
Browny,”  his  horse  could  handle  him,  and  had  the  loop  on  him 
in  no  time.  He  threw  the  bull  several  times,  but  finally  wore 
out  his  horse  and  called  to  me  to  shoot  the  bull.  I did  so  to 
save  his  horse.  Don  admitted  that  he  had  taken  in  “too 
much  territory”  that  time,  and  said  he  would  never  rope 
another  buffalo  larger  than  a calf. 

Old  man  Drewry,  Don’s  father,  and  his  son-in-law,  Tobe 
Odem,  had  come  to  Buffalo  Gap  from  Oakville  with  cattle 
and  horses.  Don  was  then  quite  a boy,  about  17  or  18 
years  of  age. 

Along  in  September  we  gathered  up  the  cattle  and  moved 
on  out  to  Sandrock  Springs,  where  Nunn  located  his  ranch 
on  Rough  Creek,  and  is  now  living  and  accumulating  cat- 
tle. That  winter  I went  back  home  and  engaged  in  buying 
and  selling  cattle,  at  which  trade  I worked  for  several  years, 
buying  quite  a lot  of  work  steers  to  be  shipped  to  Ha- 
vana, Cuba. 

On  December  1 5,  1881,  I was  married  to  Johanna  Await, 
at  Burton,  Texas,  and  lived  there  about  one  year.  I went 
west  again,  locating  at  Snyder,  Scurry  county.  My  brother, 
J.  M.  Craig,  and  1 carried  a nice  bunch  of  about  300  head  of 
stock  cattle  with  us  but  one  hard  winter  put  us  out  of  the 
cattle  business  and  took  us  back  to  Washington  county,  where 
I now  reside.  While  working  our  cattle  at  Snyder,  I took  a 
trip  west  to  the  head  of  the  Colorado  River  and  here  wit- 
nessed the  largest  “round  up”  that  1 ever  saw  or  heard 
speak  of.  It  was  the  C.  C.  Slaughter  “round  up,”  was  es- 
timated at  fOCVOO©  head  of  cattle  in  one  herd,  covering  a 
prairie  one-half  mile  each  way. 

For  the  benefit  of  those  readers  who  have  never  seen  a 
large  “round  up,”  like  those  on  the  plains  in  the  early  days, 
I shall  endeavor  to  describe  this  “round  up,”  the  wonder- 
ful system  and  efficient  way  in  which  such  an  immense  num- 
ber of  cattle  were  handled,  cut  and  assorted,  and  how  each 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


311 


rancher  got  his  cattle.  You  will  understand  that  these  cattle 
in  this  round  up  were  not  owned  by  one  individual,  but  be- 
longed to  ranches  from  a radius  of  many,  many  miles,  com- 
prising possibly  a number  of  counties.  With  the  exception  of 
perhaps  a small  corral  for  the  horses  at  the  ranch  houses 
in  those  early  days,  fences  or  pastures  were  unknown.  The 
country  was  an  open  range,  and  the  cattle  were  grazing  in 
the  open  prairies,  drifting  to  the  four  winds.  Cattle  were 
known  to  drift  as  far  as  150  miles  north.  Each  stockman, 
or  ranch,  had  a line  rider,  who  rode  the  line  or  limits  of  his 
particular  ranch  in  order  to  get  his  cattle  “located,”  or  used 
to  their  grazing  grounds.  However  vigilant,  this  would  not 
hold  all  of  his  stock.  The  line  rider  had  to  sleep  at  night, 
or  sometimes,  or,  had  so  much  territory  to  cover  and  to 
guard,  that  cattle  would  drift  away  from  their  stamping 
grounds  at  night,  or  when  the  rider  may  have  been  engaged 
at  other  points  of  the  line.  This  made  it  necessary  to  have 
the  “round  up,”  and  to  get  the  different  brands  of  cattle  to 
their  respective  owners  and  ranches.  The  custom  was  to 
have  a round-up  in  the  spring  of  the  year,  and  one  in  the  fall. 
Word  was  sent  to  stockmen  for  many  miles  around  when 
the  round  up  was  to  take  place  at  a certain  ranch.  Then 

eight  or  ten  neighboring  stockmen  would  rig  up  a “chuck 
wagon”  and  place  a cook  in  charge.  One  of  the  men  would 
furnish  the  wagon  one  time,  and  the  next  time  some  one  else 
— turn  about.  These  stockmen  going  with  the  “chuck  wa- 
gon” would  meet  at  the  appointed  time  with  their  saddle 
horses.  Each  man  having  his  bedding  lashed  to  a horse, 
when  they  met  the  chuck  wagon,  would  put  all  their  bedding- 
in  the  wagon.  This  “chuck  wagon”  was  drawn  by  two,  ,and 
sometimes  four  horses.  Next,  they  would  turn  all  their  saddle 
horses  in  a bunch,  detail  one  of  their  number  as  “horse 
wrangler,”  and  start  off  for  the  round  up.  At  the  round  up 
there  would  be  a number  of  these  chuck  wagons  or  outfits — 
possibly  six,  eight  or  ten  such  wagons,  according  to  the  notices 
sent  out,  or  the  size  of  the  round  up.  In  the  Slaughter  round 
up  there  were  ten  “chuck  wagons,”  and  each  wagon  would 
receive  a number  from  the  round  up  boss,  making  ten  num- 


312 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


bers — in  this  case  representing-  some  ninety  men,  or  stock 
owners. 

On  the  evening  before  the  round  up,  Billy  Stanefor,  the 
round  up  boss,  went  to  all  the  wagons  and  called  for  two  or 
three  men  from  each  wagon  to  go  out  from  ten  to  fifteen 
miles  and  make  what  is  called  a "dry  camp.”  Each  man  was 
to  stake  his  horse  so  that  when  daylight  came  every  man 
was  ready  to  follow  out  instructions  to  bring  all  the  cattle 
towards  the  grounds.  The  men,  so  sent  out,  all  going  in  dif- 
ferent directions,  formed  a veritable  spider’s  web,  with  the 
round  up  grounds  in  the  center.  As  soon  as  the  boys  would 
"whoop-em-up,”  the  cattle  were  on  the  run,  and  would  make 
for  the  grounds.  There  was  little  danger  or  chance  for  any 
cattle  escaping,  as  when  they  would  leave  the  path  of  one 
man  they  would  drift  into  the  path  of  the  next  man,  and 
the  nearer  they  came  to  the  grounds,  the  more  men  would 
come  in  sight — finally  forming  one  big  herd,  and  then  the 
fun  would  start.  We  found  on  bringing  in  these  cattle  in  this 
manner,  that  five  buffalo  and  some  twenty  or  more  ante- 
lope had  drifted  in  with  the  cattle.  Several  of  the  boys,,  1 
for  one,  were  sure  we  were  going  to  rope  an  antelope.  We 
got  our  loops  ready,  and  started  after  them.  Our  horses  were 
too  short,  and  also  a little  too  slow.  We  did  not  rope  any 
antelope.  Some  of  the  other  boys  fired  into  the  buffalo  but 
did  not  bring  in  any  meat  either.  The  herd  was  now  ready 
for  cutting.  The  round  up  being  on  Slaughter’s  ranch,  the 
foreman,  Gus  O.  Keith,  and  his  men,  including  old  man 
Slaughter,  cut  their  beef  cattle,  cows  and  calves  first,  and 
drove  them  back  on  the  range  to  avoid  "chousing”  them.  As 
soon  as  Slaughter  was  through  with  his  part,  the  herd  was 
ready  for  general  work. 

Now  Billy  Stanefor  calls  out  "No.  1,  cut,  and  No.  2 
Hold;”  meaning  that  the  men  from  wagon  No.  1,  were  to  go 
into  the  herd  and  cut  all  of  their  cattle,  while  the  men  of 
wagon  No.  2 would  hold  the  herd.  When  No.  1 finished 
the  round  up  boss  would  call  "No.  2,  cut  and  No.  3 Hold;” 
— when  No.  2 would  go  into  the  herd  and  cut,  while  the  men 
from  wagon  No.  3 were  holding  the  herd,  and  so  on  in  this 
manner  until  the  cutting  was  finished.  Then,  to  the  brand- 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


313 


ing  of  the  cattle.  This  was  also  all  done  on  the  open  prai- 
rie. We  made  our  fires  to  heat  the  branding  irons,  would 
rope  the  calves  or  cattle  as  the  case  may  be  on  horse  back, 
drag  them  to  the  fire  and  put  the  brand  on  them.  It  was  also 
the  duty  of  the  round  up  boss  to  see  that  no  large  calf  was 
cut  out  of  the  round-up  herd  unless  it  was  accompanied  by 
its  mother.  The  round-up  boss  had  to  act  somewhat  in  the 
capacity  of  a judge.  He  had  to  see  that  all  disputes  were 
satisfactorily  settled.  If  trouble  arose  regarding  ownership  of 
an  animal  the  round-up  boss  would  find  out  what  brand  each 
one  of  the  disputing  parties  were  claiming  the  animal  under, 
and  if  they  could  come  to  no  agreement,  the  animal  was 
roped,  the  brand  moistened  with  water  to  make  it  plainer,  or 
he  would  shear  the  hair  off  where  the  brand  was  located,  and 
in  that  way  determine  the  ownership.  All  this  was  done  im- 
mediately, and  then  the  work  would  proceed.  In  those  early 
days  the  ear-mark  would  not  always  be  proof  of  ownership 
and  an  animal  without  brand  was  called  a “sleeper.”  A 
sleeper  was  nominally  everybody’s  property,  and  was  so 
called  because  some  one  had  overlooked  branding  this  animal 
in  a previous  round-up — had  slept  on  his  rights.  Naturally,  all 
hands  had  a leaning  towards  these  sleepers;  and  I have  seen 
a sleeper  cut  out  of  the  round-up  by  one  man  and  during 
the  day  changed  several  times  to  other  bunches.  The  man 
that  was  lucky  to  get  away  with  a sleeper  would  put  his 
brand  on  him.  However,  if  such  an  animal  had  an  ear-mark 
and  any  of  the  parties  claimed  the  mark  he  would  then  hold 
the  best  title. 

The  round-up  boss  would  let  no  one  ride  through  the  herd 
and  “chouse,”  or  unnecessarily  disturb  them;  these  fellows 
found  guilty  of  such  misconduct  were  called  “loco’ed.”  Oft- 
times  it  was  known  for  the  round-up  boss  to  put  him  out  of 
the  herd  and  cut  his  cattle  for  him.  The  whole  round-up  was 
conducted  in  a strictly  business  way,  and  such  a thing  as 
“red  tape”  was  unknown. 

This  work  being  finished,  each  wagon  with  its  little  herd 
would  start  for  the  next  round-up.  Possibly  night  would 
overtake  them  and  pens  being  unknown,  it  would  be  up  to 
the  boys  to  herd  them  and  “sing”  to  them  as  it  was  usually 


314 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


called.  Each  man  would  rope  his  night  horse  and  they 
would  herd  in  shifts. 

This  night  herding  is  nice  and  novel  in  fair  weather,  and 
on  a nice  moonlit  night;  but  when  it  comes  to  one  of  those 
dark  nights  of  thunder,  lightning  and  the  rain  pouring  down 
on  you,  your  life  is  in  the  hands  of  God  and  your  faithful 
night  horse.  There  is  to  my  mind  no  nobler  animal  in  God’s 
creation  than  a faithful  horse.  We  would  always  pick  out  the 
clearest-footed,  best-sighted  horses  for  this  work.  All  horses 
can  see  in  the  night,  and  better  than  a man,  but  there  are 
some  horses  that  can  see  better  than  others. 

Boys,  in  this  connection,  I wish  to  relate  a little  incident 
of  what  a horse  can  do  and  did  at  the  Slaughter  round-up. 
We  were  told  that  the  Slaughter  ranch  possessed  two  horses 
that  would  cut  without  a bridle  and  we  asked  Gus  Keith,  the 
foreman,  to  let  us  see  the  horses  perform  this  feat.  He  called 
for  two  horses,  “Old  Pompy,”  a black  pacing  horse,  and, 
“S.  B.,”  a slim  bay  horse.  They  rode  into  the  herd  and 
worked  an  animal  towards  the  edge  of  the  bunch  and  slipped 
the  bridle.  Each  horse  brought  out  the  right  cow  and  with- 
out a miss.  This  was  great  work  for  a dumb  animal. 

At  this  round-up  I also  saw  the  last  wild  buffalo. 

It  was  in  the  year  of  1880  that  I sold  Hugh  Lewis  and  Jim 
Holt,  of  Brenham,  seven  hundred  steers  on  a contract  to 
Mr.  Runge.  The  steers  were  to  be  delivered  at  the  Runge 
ranch  near  Yorktown,  DeWitt  county.  They  were  short  of 
both  horses  and  men  and  hired  my  brother  and  me  to  go 
through  with  the  herd  to  Yorktown.  On  our  way  we  came 
to  the  Colorado  river  at  La  Grange  and  found  the  stream 
on  a rampage.  We  were  told  of  a man  that  had  been 

drowned  at  this  crossing  three  days  before  in  trying  to  cross 
a herd  of  cattle.  The  man  had  all  his  clothes  on  besides  a 

six-shooter.  In  swimming  across  he  had  taken  the  left  point 

(or  lead)  to  point  the  cattle  across.  The  cattle  began  milling 
in  the  stream  and  tried  to  turn  back.  He  had  made  the  point 
on  his  horse,  but  got  into  the  bunch  of  milling  cattle  and 
both  he  and  his  horse  went  under.  He  was  found  two  days 
later  some  four  hundred  yards  below  the  crossing.  This 

brought  up  the  question  to  us.  Who  would  venture  to  point 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


315 


our  herd  across;  and,  what  would  it  cost  to  have  them 

pointed?  Crowds  of  people  had  come  from  La  Grange  to 

witness  the  spectacle  of  a large  herd  of  cattle  swimming 
across  the  river;  there  were  men,  women  and  children,  all 
eager  to  see.  I was  about  the  poorest  swimmer  in  the  out- 
fit, but  had  lots  of  experience  in  my  time,  no  doubt  more 
than  the  rest  all  together.  Holt  sauntered  up  to  me,  and 
asked  if  I was  afraid  to  point  the  herd,  and  what  would  I 
charge  extra  to  pull  off  the  stunt.  I confessed  to  him  that  I 
was  not  a good  swimmer  and  was  afraid  of  water,  but  that  I 

was  a hired  hand  and  would  not  shirk  my  duty.  1 had  a 

first-class  pony  for  the  work,  and  told  him  that  I would  point 
the  herd  if  allowed  to  strip  my  clothes.  He  told  me  the 
work  had  to  be  done,  women  or  no  women.  When  every- 
thing was  arranged,  I stripped,  mounted  my  pony  bare-back 
and  took  the  left  (or  lower)  point.  I struck  the  water  with 
the  cattle  and  stayed  near  the  lead  until  they  saw  the  oppo- 
site bank,  then  I led  out  for  the  bank  and  crossed  the  cattle 
without  a mishap.  From  there  on  we  moved  along  smoothly 
until  we  got  to  the  Guadalupe  River.  Here,  at  night  my 
brother,  I,  and  two  other  boys  were  herding  on  first  relief. 
Some  old  timers  had  told  us  that  it  “never  rained  at  night  in 
June,”  but  we  had  all  doubts  dispelled  here.  As  we  were 
short  of  horses  we  herded  in  only  two  reliefs.  After  midnight 
as  1 rode  into  camp  to  wake  up  the  second  relief  I noticed  an 
approaching  storm  cloud  in  the  northwest,  and  before  the  boys 
could  saddle  their  horses  and  get  around  the  herd  it  was 
thunder,  lightning,  and  a down-pour  of  rain,  all  in  one.  The 
herd  started  drifting  south  and  there  was  no  way  to  hold 
them.  They  did  not  stampede  but  kept  moving  and  as  it 
was  very  dark  we  could  only  see  them  by  the  flashes  of 
lightning,  and  drift  with  them.  We  must  have  traveled  some 
three  or  four  miles  when  I called  to  my  brother  to  ask  what 
had  become  of  the  other  two  boys.  He  said  they  nad  found 
a tree  and  had  climbed  up  in  it.  We  had  not  heard  a sound 
from  them  since  leaving  camp.  I knew  the  man  near  me 
was  my  brother  by  his  voice,  as  he  was  always  in  the  habit 
of  singing  and  talking  to  the  cattle  to  quiet  them.  In  a 
stampede  there  are  no  “road  laws,”  everything  in  its  path 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


3 16 

must  clear  out  or  get  run  over.  After  a few  minutes  silence 
my  brother  called  out:  “Everybody  look  out,  trouble  ahead; 

my  horse  won’t  go  any  further!”  A flash  of  lightning  re- 
vealed the  banks  of  the  Guadalupe  river,  the  cause  of  his 
horse  refusing  to  go  further.  We  worked  our  way  back 
through  the  cattle,  as  the  river  would  hold  the  cattle  at  this 
end,  and  waited  for  daylight.  We  found  that  we  had  drifted 
seven  miles  during  the  latter  part  of  the  night  and  just  the 
two  of  us  in  charge  of  the  whole  herd.  Our  horses  were 
“all  in,”  for  we  had  ridden  them  since  noon  the  day  before. 
We  figured  that  we  would  be  off  at  midnight,  when  our  re- 
lief was  up,  and  had  not  changed  for  the  night  relief.  This 
was  our  last  obstacle  to  speak  of  from  there  to  the  Runge 
ranch.  Steers  those  days  were  bought  and  sold  “by  age.” 
When  the  classing  and  turning  them  over  to  Runge’s  fore- 
man began,  some  trouble  arose  between  Jim  Holt  and  the 
foreman  of  Runge’s  ranch,  as  to  the  ages  of  the  steers. 
Runge’s  foreman  asked  Holt  if  he  did  not  have  a man  in  his 
outfit  that  he  would  entrust  with  classing  for  him.  Jim  Holt 
had  never  handled  many  cattle,  and  asked  me  to  do  his  class- 
ing, with  Runge’s  man.  We  got  along  fine  and  more  than 
pleased  Holt,  for,  when  we  were  through  Holt  found  himself 
to  the  “good”  several  hundred  dollars  above  contract  price  he 
paid,  and  the  amount  of  my  classing.  On  our  way  home  Holt 
stopped  at  a hotel  in  Yorktown.  In  this  hotel  I saw  a sign 
that  1 shall  never  forget,  it  read: 

PASSENGERS  WITHOUT  BAGGAGE 
PAY  IN  ADVANCE 
AND  DON’T  YOU  FORGET  IT. 

Holt  had  no  baggage  and  had  to  dig  up  the  cash.  He  was 
considered  a good-hearted  man,  but  when  drinking  would 
not  stand  for  any  foolishness.  He  was  known  as  a good 
fighter  and  soldier  from  his  Civil  War  record.  I recall  one 
time  at  Burton,  Texas,  when  Holt  and  Dr.  Watt  met,  dis- 
agreed, and  both  pulled  their  “smoke-wagons”  and  got 
busy.  When  the  smoke  cleared  away,  both  men  were  found 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


317 


E.  A.  ROBUCK 


318 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


wounded,  Dr.  Watt  going  to  Knittel’s  store,  and  Holt  into 
Hons  & Bauer’s  establishment.  Holt  was  wounded  in  the 
hip,  the  bullet  lodging  in  the  backbone.  Dr.  Hons,  his  broth- 
er-in-law, who  now  lives  in  San  Marcos,  probed  for  the  bul- 
let, while  I was  holding  Holt’s  leg.  I could  feel  the  forceps 
slipping  off  the  leaden  missile  as  the  doctor  was  trying  to 
extract  it.  Dr.  Hons  failed  to  remove  the  ball  and  advised 
Holt  that  it  would  take  an  operation  and  which  would  be  a 
dangerous  one.  Holt  sent  to  San  Antonio  for  Dr.  Cupples, 
who  had  been  a surgeon  in  the  army  with  Holt.  Dr.  Cup- 
ples and  Dr.  Hons  performed  the  operation  and  Holt  got  well. 
He  lived  about  two  years  when  he  and  Joe  Hoffman,  also  of 
Burton,  were  waylaid  and  shot  in  a saloon  in  Brenham. 

Dr.  Hons  treated  me  during  my  illness  with  meningitis, 
about  33  years  ago.  At  the  same  time  he  was  also  attend- 
ing Charles  Hohmeyer’s  three  children,  who  were  suffering 
from  the  same  malady.  We  all  got  well — but  1,  minus  one 
eye.  There  were  at  the  time  fifty-six  cases  of  meningitis  in 
Burton  and  Brenham,  of  which  44  did  not  recover. 

I considered  myself  very  fortunate  in  securing  the  services 
of  my  friend,  Dr.  Hons,  and  know  he  is  one  of  the  finest  phy- 
sicians in  the  State  of  Texas. 

In  1884,  Sam  Hale  and  I,  put  up  for  Curtis  & Cochran,  of 
California,  800  head  of  cattle.  We  bought  these  up  in  Wash- 
ington, Lee,  Burleson  and  Austin  counties.  Curtis  & Coch- 
ran bought  some  600  head  more  from  their  kinspeople  and 
others  near  Bellville,  and  gathered  them  at  Buckhorn,  Aus- 
tin county.  My  oldest  brother,  J.  M.  Craig,  was  employed  by 
Curtis  & Cochran,  to  boss  the  herd  through  to  New  Mexico. 
He  moved  their  600  head  from  Buckhorn  to  Burton,  where 
Hale  and  I joined  him  with  the  800  head  making  a herd  of 
1400  cattle.  This  was  entirely  too  large  a herd  to  handle 
in  the  woods  and  among  the  farms. 

The  first  day  we  only  moved  the  herd  some  seven  miles 
and  camped  at  Charlie  Tarno’s,  in  Sandtown,  within  300 
yards  of  where  I was  born.  Old  man  Tarno  had  a field  of 
about  ten  acres  fenced  with  post  oak  rails.  Into  this  field 
we  turned  our  herd.  Cochran  had  made  the  arrangement 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


319 


and  knew  nothing  about  cattle.  He  said:  “Put  them  in 

there  and  give  the  boys  a good  night’s  rest.”  We  had  some 
sixty  miles  of  the  worst  kind  of  brush  ahead  of  us  before 
we  would  get  to  the  Taylor  prairie.  I warned  my  brother 
and  Cochran  that  the  herd  would  break  fence  and  scatter  in 
all  the  directions  of  the  globe;  and  1 for  one,  would  sleep  with 
my  bridle  in  hand.  Hale  and  my  brother  followed  my  sug- 
gestion. Curtis  & Cochran  had  hired  every  man  that  came 
to  the  herd,  having  some  14  hands,  besides  a cook.  The  firm 
had  all  their  money  in  this  herd,  and  were  down  here  in 
Texas  where  they  did  not  have  confidence  in  Texas  people. 
They  were  so  “darned”  crooked  themselves  that  they  thought 
everybody  was  trying  to  beat  them,  so  they  hired  all  these 
men  to  be  sure  of  their  cattle,  and  to  hold  the  herd.  Hale, 
my  brother  and  1,  had  our  horses  saddled  and  ready.  We 
took  up  our  stations  around  the  herd,  one  in  a place.  About 
ten  o’clock  that  night  the  expected  happened — the  cattle 
stampeded.  My  brother  was  ahead  of  me,  but  could  not  make 
the  lead;  so  he  called  to  me:  “Go  to  the  lead  of  the  herd 
and  hold  them  up.”  I made  the  lead  and  on  my  way  I 
passed  Arthur  Jones,  who  was  in  the  middle  of  the  herd, 
whipping  for  dear  life  to  get  out  of  the  way,  and  caused  the 
cattle  in  front  to  run  so  much  faster.  I did  not  see  Jones 
any  more  that  night.  Later  I located  Sam  Hale  by  his  voice. 
The  herd  split  up  on  us;  my  brother  being  with  one  part,  and 
Sam  Hale  and  1 held  the  other  part.  At  daybreak  we  drove 
our  cattle  towards  the  balance  of  the  herd.  We  had  the  cat- 
tle counted  before  a single  man  from  camp  showed  up — three 
of  us  holding  1400  head  of  cattle  in  a herd  through  a dark 
night. 

The  cook  told  us  that  Curtis  and  Cochran  had  talked  and 
wailed  all  night  about  their  fortune  being  scattered  in  those 
woods,  and  that  they  would  never  get  them  back.  Old  man 
Cochran  came  to  us  in  the  morning,  accosting  my  brother: 
“Well,  John,  how  many  of  the  ‘band’  (meaning  the  herd) 
are  gone?”  My  brother  said:  “Here  is  the  count.”  He 
handed  him  the  envelope  on  which  we  had  jotted  down  the 
numbers  as  we  cut  the  cattle  by  in  small  bunches  and  had 
counted  them.  The  figures  proved  we  were  none  short. 


320 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


Cochran  was  a happy  “old  Yank,”  and  declared:  “You  boys 
must  have  eyes  like  an  owl,  to  run  through  these  woods  at 
night  and  not  get  killed.” 

With  the  delivery  of  these  cattle  to  Curtis  & Cochran, 
my  contract  expired.  The  next  day  at  noon  I left  for  home. 
My  brother  carried  the  herd  on  through  to  New  Mexico, 
somewhere  near  Las  Vegas,  and  told  me  later  that  he  had 
undergone  many  hardships.  In  crossing  the  Plains,  he  had 
been  without  water  for  the  cattle,  at  one  time,  for  two  days 
and  two  nights.  After  all  the  hard  and  faithful  work,  these 
two  old  Yanks  tried  to  beat  my  brother  out  of  half  of  his 
wages.  They  hired  him  at  $100.00  per  month,  and  paid 
him  $50.00.  Curtis  & Cochran  had  lost  a few  cattle  at 
Bell ville  while  herding  them  and  authorized  me  to  gather  and 
dispose  of  them  and  send  them  the  money.  1 gathered  these 
cattle,  sold  them,  paid  my  brother  his  balance,  and  have 
never  heard  from  them  since. 

One  night  while  we  were  putting  up  cattle  for  the  Curtis 
& Cochran  herd  we  had  some  l5o  head  in  my  pen  at  Burton. 
After  turning  in  for  the  night  my  brother  took  his  money 
and  some  money  that  Joe,  my  wife  had  given  him  for  safe- 
keeping, together  with  his  sixshooter,  stuck  them  under  his 
pillow,  and  turned  in.  He  was  sleeping  on  the  front  gallery. 
All  of  a sudden  I heard  a noise,  and  found  something  had 
frightened  the  cattle,  and  they  had  broken  fence  and  stam- 
peded. They  ran  south,  through  the  town  of  Burton.  We 
were  after  them  in  no  time  and  overtook  them  on  White- 
ner’s  prairie,  rounded  them  together  and  finally  succeeded 
in  quieting  them.  Now,  it  happened  that  my  brother  began 
to  get  restless  and  confided  to  me  that  he  came  away  and 
had  left  all  his  and  my  wife’s  money  under  his  pillow,  on  the 
front  gallery.  He  figured  that  possibly  my  wife  might  have 
thought  of  it  after  our  departure  and  had  taken  care  of  it, 
but  “seeing  is  believing,”  and  he  was  ill  at  ease.  He  rode 
back  to  assure  himself,  while  1 held  the  herd.  Luckily  he 
found  the  money  and  sixshooter  in  possession  of  my  wife, 
and  to  say  the  least,  he  felt  much  relieved.  There  were  but 
few  banks  in  the  country,  and  we  were  in  the  habit  of  carry- 
ing the  cash  with  us.  The  German  people,  as  a rule,  would 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


321 


not  take  anybody’s  check,  and  quite  often  demanded  payment 
in  silver,  as  they  did  not  like  paper  money. 

Whenever  I had  too  much  money  I would  turn  it  over  to 
my  wife.  This  was  not  a “force  of  habit,”  but  quite  con- 
venient. My  wife  would  put  it  in  what  she  termed  the  “First 
National  Bank” — her  stocking.  You  know  that  is  a woman’s 
money  purse. 

In  1893,  Dr.  Hons  of  San  Marcos  and  I were  buying  up 
1000  head  of  one  and  two-year-old  steers  on  contract.  We 
sold  them  to  H.  C.  Beal  for  Louis  Runge  of  Menardville.  We 
had  leased  the  McCoy  pasture,  near  Wetmore,  on  the  Cibolo 
Creek  to  hold  these  steers  until  we  had  the  required  number. 
We  were  to  deliver  these  cattle  to  them  at  the  Las  Moras 
ranch,  on  Elm  Creek,  near  Menard. 

This  was  really  the  hardest  trip  that  1 ever  made  with 
cattle.  The  cattle  ran  the  first  four  nights  that  we  were  out 
and  gave  us  no  end  of  trouble. 

The  first  night  we  herded  in  a wide  lane  or  pocket,  some 
three  miles  this  side  of  the  Guadalupe  River  on  the  Blanco 
City  road.  The  cattle  stampeded.  Sam  Craig,  Billy  and  Ed. 
Eckert  were  holding  the  north  end  of  the  pocket,  towards  the 
river,  while  Stock  Wesson,  1 and  the  other  hands  held  to  the 
south  end.  The  cattle  headed  for  the  river  and  went  onto 
the  boys  with  such  force  that  they  were  unable  to  hold  them. 
Sam  Craig  was  riding  a little  black  pony  named  “Nigger 
Babe”,  a sure-footed  and  fast  animal.  Sam  went  into  the 
lane  with  the  cattle,  taking  all  kinds  of  chances.  He  worked 
his  way  towards  the  lead  but  before  they  got  to  the  river 
he  crowded  them  into  the  fence,  which  they  broke  and  got 
into  a pasture.  Sam  was  with  them.  He  turned  their  lead 
and  brought  them  all  back  to  the  herd.  I considered  Sam 
the  best  hand  I ever  had,  day  or  night  work,  with  cattle.  Next 
morning’s  count  showed  that  we  had  not  lost  any  of  the 
herd.  On  this  trip  I also  had  my  boy,  Walter  A.  Craig, 
then  8 years  old,  with  me.  He  had  his  own  horse,  leggings 
and  spurs,  and  made  a splendid  little  hand  in  day  time.  I 
caught  him  asleep  but  once.  He  was  on  his  horse  under  a 
tree  and  two  other  grown  men  were  down  on  the  ground 
sound  asleep.  He  was  too  young  to  do  any  night  herding. 


322 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


The  second  night  we  held  the  cattle  in  another  pocket,  or 
wide  lane,  near  Krueger’s  store.  The  fences  were  good  on 
either  side,  just  two  lanes  to  hold,  but  that  night  we  had  a rain- 
storm. I took  Walter,  my  boy,  on  my  horse  behind  me  ana 
brought  him  to  Krueger’s  store.  Sam  Craig  and  Stock  Wes- 
son held  the  south  end  of  the  lane.  They  had  orders  to  force 
the  cattle  through  the  fence  in  case  of  a stampede,  rather 
than  let  them  go  back  the  way  they  had  come.  The  other 
boys,  Billy  and  Ed  Eckert  held  the  north  end  of  the  lane. 
The  storm  came  from  the  north  and  the  cattle  ran  south, 
throwing  them  on  Craig  and  Wesson.  They  fought  them 
with  their  slickers  for  dear  life  until  they  succeeded  in  turn- 
ing their  lead.  Into  the  six  or  eight  wire  fence  they  went. 
They  broke  through,  cutting  up  a number  of  them  badly  and 
we  were  obliged  to  kill  several  of  them.  They  made  another 
run,  going  north;  broke  through  the  line,  and  scattered  all 
over  the  mountains  near  Blanco  City.  We  worked  for  three 
days  gathering  these  cattle,  and  Cavaness  Brothers  and  others 
rendered  us  great  assistance. 

The  third  night  we  moved  in  above  Blanco  and  had  pretty 
good  “bed  grounds.”  The  cattle  made  one  little  run,  but 
we  did  not  lose  any  in  the  stampede.  However,  some  of 
the  boys  were  careless  and  let  quite  a number  drift  out  of  the 
herd  during  the  night  and  we  gathered  all  next  day  to  get 
them  back. 

The  fourth  day  we  moved  into  an  ideal  “bed  ground,”  an 
open  prairie  with  mountains  all  around.  The  boys  had  good 
grounds  to  run  on.  I gave  Sam  Craig  and  Stock  Wesson 
each  two  horses  and  told  them  to  run  the  cattle  down  if 
they  could  do  no  better;  also,  to  take  their  slickers  and  run 
the  herd  in  a circle  all  night  or  hold  them.  I put  Walter,  my 
boy,  and  my  little  nigger  boy,  Bill,  on  the  chuck  box  in  back 
of  the  wagon,  and  told  them  to  stay  there  till  the  cattle 
quieted  down.  These  boys  said  that  the  cattle  ran  twenty- 
two  times  that  night.  The  next  morning  we  tried  to  stam- 
pede the  herd  with  our  slickers,  but  they  refused  to  be  stam- 
peded. They  never  made  another  run  on  us.  We  had  no 
more  trouble  of  this  nature  but  we  were  quite  a few  short 
on  account  of  so  many  stampedes.  H.  C.  Beal  having  passed 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


323 


HIRAM  G.  CRAIG  AND  “JOHNNIE” 

on  these  cattle,  stayed  by  his  classing  and  did  not  cut  us  any 
cattle  on  account  of  wire  cuts.  This  was  an  exceptional  trip 
and  I was  very  foolish  in  taking  my  child  along  at  his  age. 
The  trip  kept  him  away  from  his  mother  for  two  months. 
We  returned  in  the  chuck  wagon  and  on  the  way  gathered 
what  cattle  we  had  lost  and  could  find. 

In  1914  one  day  I was  en  route  from  Brenham  to  Ledbet- 
ter with  my  two  favorite  ponies,  Johnny  and  Charlie.  I was 
riding  Johnny  and  leading  Charlie.  Some  two  and  a half 
miles  north  of  Carmine  on  the  Houston  and  Texas  Central 
Railroad,  I met  Crawford  Gillespie.  He  was  section  fore- 
man, Section  7,  and  was  trying  to  push  one  of  those  motor 
cars  down  the  track  to  where  his  men  were  at  work.  In 
some  unaccountable  way  the  motor  started  and  the  car  got 
away  from  Gillespie.  It  went  through  his  bunch  of  men, 
who  tried  to  board  it  but  failed.  He  called  to  me  to  ditch  it 
by  throwing  a tie  across  the  track.  The  track  was  fenced, 


324 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


and  I had  no  chance.  In  fact,  I did  not  hardly  have  any- 
time to  “hesitate.”  It  was  all  my  horse  could  do  to  out- 
run the  car;  and  I saw  my  only  chance  was  to  beat  the  car 
to  Carmine,  and  rope  it.  There  was  no  way  of  getting  close 
to  the  track  on  account  of  it  being  fenced.  I got  to  Carmine 
in  time  enough  to  jump  off  my  horse  and  throw  a near-lying 
plank  across  the  track,  and  ditched  it  directly  in  front  of  the 
depot.  It  was  a test  of  horse  flesh  against  gasoline,,  in 
which  the  horse  won  out.  This  little  pony  is  now  playing 
polo  in  New  York. 

In  the  early  days  there  were  in  Washington  county  as  well 
as  in  many  other  counties  of  Texas,  some  pretty  tough  peo- 
ple. Horse  and  cattle  thieves  were  quite  plentiful.  The  of-  | 
ficers  knowing  that  my  oldest  brother  and  I were  handy  on 
horseback  and  ready  at  day  or  in  the  night  to  uphold  law 
and  order,  would  call  on  us  to  assist  in  running  down  this  ele-  i 
ment.  We  kept  this  duty  up  more  or  less  all  of  our  lives; 
and  neither  of  us  has  ever  held  an  office  higher  than  a dep- 
uty sheriff  or  constable.  The  fact  is;  the  court  house  ring 
were  playing  “safety  first,”  and  knew  that  some  of  their 
crooked  bunch  would  get  locked  up  if  occasion  warranted. 

In  those  days  we  could  not  prohibit  horse-stealing,  but 
now-a-days  you  seldom  hear  of  it  in  this  country.  The  horse 
thieves  were  very  bad  and  bold,  and  something  had  to  be 
done.  You  might,  for  instance,  go  to  bed  at  night  leaving 
your  work  team  in  the  barn  or  lot  and  awake  next  morning 
to  find  your  team  had  disappeared.  Every  possible  means 
were  resorted  to  to  stamp  out  this  evil,  but  of  no  avail. 
Finally  they  experimented  with  “hemp”  for  several  years.  A 
strong  dose  of  hemp  would  always  tend  to  kind  of  “deaden” 
the  desire  to  steal  and  today  there  is  very  little  of  it  going  on. 

With  reference  to  the  old  time  cowmen  with  whom  I have 
spent  all  of  my  life;  I candidly  believe  them  to  be  the  best 
people  on  earth  today.  They  do  not  all  profess  to  be  Chris- 
tians, but  they  are  a noble  and  big-hearted  set  of  men  that 
you  can  rely  upon  when  you,  or  your  country  gets  into 
trouble.  They  will  divide  their  last  dollar  with  you,  and  fight 
their  weight  in  wild-cats  for  you,  their  friends  and  their  coun- 
try; they  are  always  ready  to  help  the  poor  and  needy.  Only  ■ 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


325 


the  other  day  at  one  of  the  local  commission  offices,  a boy 
who  had  come  from  Arkansas  with  cattle  told  us  of  lending 
his  last  ten  dollars  to  a gambler  and  losing  it.  He  had  a 
“pass”  back  home  but  nothing  to  pay  for  meals  or  lodging. 
The  boys  chipped  in  and  made  up  enough  money  for  him  on  his 
way  home.  As  he  was  walking  out  of  the  office,  John  Draper 
asked  me  to  call  him  back,  and  handed  him  a ten  dollar  bill. 
This  is  the  kind  of  material  the  stockmen  in  general  are  made 
of,  and  may  the  good  Lord  favor  every  one  of  them. 

Now  in  conclusion  will  say  that  my  family  consists  of  my 
wife  and  two  children.  The  oldest  child,  a girl,  named 
Willie  Belle,  is  living  in  Houston,  Texas,  and  is  the  wife 
of  Judge  Ewing  Boyd,  judge  of  the  35th  District,  Harris 
County.  The  youngest  child,  a boy,  Walter  A.,  after 
finishing  his  education  in  Waco  worked  for  different  banks  in 
Fort  Worth  and  later  for  Swift  and  Company — where  he  fig- 
ured the  value  of  cattle  from  the  “scales  to  the  vat.”  He 
also  wanted  more  elbow-room  and  the  open  air,  so  he  en- 
gaged in  the  live  stock  business.  He  dealt  exclusively  in  Mex- 
ican cattle  and  had  ranching  interests  in  Mexico,  but,  on  ac- 
count of  the  revolution  he  transferred  his  activities  to  this 
side  of  the  river,  and  is  located  at  Laredo,  Texas.  He  is 
actively  engaged  in  the  live  stock  trade  and  considered  a fine 
judge  of  stock. 

As  for  myself,  1 am  hale  and  hardy  at  my  age,  which  I at- 
tribute to  my  life  in  the  open  air  and  being  used  to  work. 

May  we  all  meet  at  the  final  roll  call,  and  accompany  the 
chuck  wagon  to  the  last  and  great  Round-up.  Beware!  if 
you  are  a “sleeper!” 


CAPTAIN  CHARLES  SCHREINER. 

Of  Kerrville,  Texas. 

One  of  the  most  prominent  figures  in  the  development  of 
the  cattle  industry  in  West  and  Southwest  Texas  is  Cap- 
tain Charles  Schreiner,  who  is  still  living  at  Kerrville,  where 
for  so  many  years  he  was  actively  engaged  in  business,  but 
is  now  spending  his  declining  years  amid  the  pleasant  sur- 


326 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


roundings  that  his  wonderful  zeal  and  enterprising  spirit  has 
made  possible. 

Captain  Schreiner  was  born  in  Alsace  Lorraine,  France, 
February  22,  183  8,  and  came  to  San  Antonio,  Texas,  in 
September,  1852.  At  that  time  San  Antonio  was  little  more 
than  a village,  and  the  surrounding  country  a wilderness  in- 
fested with  wild  beasts  and  wild  men.  Captain  Schreiner 
foresaw  wonderful  opportunities  for  the  man  with  grit  and 
determination,  and  although  he  was  but  a lad  in  his  teens 
he  started  out  with  a determination  to  carve  out  a career 
for  himself  that  would  place  him  in  the  ranks  of  the  prom- 
inent financiers  and  business  men  of  the  state.  In  1859  he 
entered  the  stock  business  on  Turtle  Creek,  Kerr  county,  in 
a small  way,  gradually  building  his  herds,  acquiring 
land  holdings,  and  thus  expanding  his  interests  as  the  years 
passed  by.  Ten  years  later,  in  1869,  he  engaged  in  the 
banking  and  general  mercantile  business  at  Kerrville,  which 
business  has  continued  to  this  good  time,  and  is  one  of  the 
solid  institutions  of  West  Texas. 

In  the  establishment  of  a bank  and  store  at  Kerrville  at 
that  early  date  Captain  Schreiner  placed  himself  in  a posi- 
tion to  assist  the  pioneers  of  that  section  and  thus  help  in 
the  development  of  that  favored  region.  He  was  heartily  in 
accord  with  any  project  that  was  for  the  good  of  the  com- 
munity he  had  chosen  for  his  field  of  operations,  and  with 
the  keenest  of  business  ability  he  permitted  no  opportunity  to 
slip  that  would  aid  in  its  development.  The  result  was 
that  in  the  course  of  time  he  became  identified  with  several 
industrial  projects,  chiefly  cattle  and  sheep  raising,  was  also 
engaged  in  the  mercantile  and  banking  business  at  Junction 
City  and  Rocksprings  and  was  connected  with  banks  and 
mercantile  concerns  in  San  Antonio,  as  well  as  possessing 
stock  in  several  railroad  companies,  gradually  building  a for- 
tune that  made  him  several  times  a millionaire.  Despite  the 
burden  of  years  Captain  Schreiner  gave  active  attention  to 
his  banking,  mercantile  and  live  stock  interests  until  1 9 1 8, 
when  he  transferred  the  bulk  of  his  property  to  his  chil- 
dren. 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


327 


CAPTAIN  CHARLES  SCHREINER 
Banker,  Merchant,  Stockman  and  Philanthropist 


328 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


At  the  age  of  sixteen  years  Captain  Schreiner  entered  the 
Ranger  service,  serving  in  Captain  Henry’s,  Captain  San- 
some’s  and  Captain  McFadden’s  companies  during  1854  to 
1859.  When  the  Civil  War  broke  out  he  enlisted  in  the 
Confederate  Army  and  served  for  four  years. 

For  many  years  Captain  Schreiner  and  Captain  John  T. 
Lytle  were  in  partnership  in  the  cattle  business  and  the  firm 
drove  more  than  one  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  cattle  up 
the  trail  to  northern  markets. 

Today  the  name  of  Charles  Schreiner  is  linked  with  the 
making  of  West  Texas,  for  he  has  been  the  moving,  build- 
ing spirit  that  has  made  many  things  possible  for  that  re- 
gion. The  town  of  Kerrville  stands  as  a monument  to  his 
genius,  and  the  substantial  business  and  public  buildings  and 
pretty  homes  in  that  thriving  metropolis  lend  evidence  to 
the  fact  that  “he  builded  better  than  he  knew.” 


THE  EARLY  CATTLE  DAYS  IN  TEXAS 

By  A.  W.  Capt,  San  Antonio,  Texas. 

My  mind  wanders  back  today  to  the  good  old  days  of  yore; 
back  to  the  halcyon  days  of  the  early  cattle  round  ups  and 
drives  up  the  “Chisholm  Trail,”  when  cowponies  were  sure- 
footed sure  enough.  Cowponies  and  “cow  boys”  were  sure- 
to-goodness  cow  boys.  The  later  term  applied  to  them 
“cow  punchers”  was  not  yet  coined  nor  applicable,  for  usual- 
ly the  exercise  was  more  of  a race  horse  performance  to 
round  ’em  up  and  hold  them  up  before  they  struck  the 
breaks. 

My  cowboy  experience  dates  back  to  the  early  sixties  in 
Blanco,  Kendall  and  Gillespie  counties,  the  then  frontier  of 
Texas.  During  the  Civil  War,  when  the  men  and  boys 
were  nearly  all  in  the  army,  cattle  on  the  range  plentiful  and 
very  wild,  it  was  mine  to  ride  the  range  alone,  everybody’s 
“roustabout”  to  gather  their  scattered  cattle,  brand  their 
calves  and  hunt  their  lost  horses.  In  those  days  of  open  range 
and  free  grass  it  was  a custom  practiced  by  the  people  to 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


329 


round  up  such  cows  as  were  easily  penned  regardless  of  own- 
ership in  most  cases  and  milk  them  during  the  spring,  sum- 
mer and  fall,  branding  the  calves  in  the  cow’s  brand.  Con- 
cerning this  bit  of  exercise  I became  very  proficient  and  much 
needed  for  when  early  grass  began  to  rise  and  young  calves 
began  to  bawl  in  the  spring  I was  called  into  service  from 
“Dan  to  Beersheba”  by  war  widows  and  other  folks  where 
there  was  no  one  on  the  ranch  that  wore  a pair  of  pants, 
to  ride  the  range  and  run  in  old  “Sooky”  and  any  other  cows 
with  calves  that  could  be  penned. 

Beginning  in  the  spring  of  1870  when  large  herds  were 
being  driven  from  Texas  up  the  Chisholm  trail  to  Kansas 
and  beyond,  I got  my  best  experience,  joining  the  “round- 
up” for  Sam  and  Thos.  Johnson,  the  then  largest  individual 
trail  drivers  operating  in  Blanco,  Gillespie,  Llano,  Burnett, 
Hays,  Comal  and  Kendall  counties,  with  headquarter  pens 
and  branding  stall  at  the  mouth  of  Williamson’s  creek  in 
Blanco  county  and  headquarters  at  Johnson’s  Ranch  on  the 
Pedernales  River,  Johnson  City,  the  county  site  of  Blanco 
county.  The  round-up  or  range  hands  and  range  boss  usually 
gathered,  road  branded  and  delivered  a herd  of  from  2500  to 
3000  head  of  cattle,  which  a trail  boss  and  his  outfit  re- 
ceived at  headquarters  ranch,  but  sometimes  we  delivered  them 
at  the  Seven  Live  Oaks  on  the  prairie  west  of  Austin.  After 
a good  night’s  rest  the  ranch  hands  bidding  their  relief  “So 
long,  we’ll  meet  you  later  in  Kansas,”  with  pack  and 
ponies  hit  the  back  trails  for  another  herd  for  the  next  outfit. 

Usually  the  ranch  hands  and  ranch  boss  covered  the  re- 
treat with  the  last  herd  in  the  late  summer.  This  being  the 
case  in  the  summer  of  1871  when  we  started  from  the  brand- 
ing pens  on  Williamson  Creek,  tired  and  worn,  the  boss  bol- 
stered up  with  a pillow  in  his  saddle,  having  come  in  con- 
tact with  the  business  end  of  a black  steer  at  the  branding 
pen  was  almost  out  of  commission.  We  had  a herd  of  3000 
head  made  up  mostly  of  beeves  of  the  old  mossback,  stam- 
peding, bushwhacking  type.  The  outfit  consisted  of  the 
cook,  the  only  man  in  the  outfit  that  everybody  could  cuss, 
chuck  wagon  drawn  by  two  yoke  of  oxen,  horse  wrangler 
and  sixty  four  rode-down  mounts  and  sixteen  typical  cow 


330 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


boys,  Dick  Johnson,  boss;  Col.  Nat  Lewis,  second  boss;  Tom 
Moore  (Banker  Tom)  of  Llano;  Tom  Logan,  Bill  Hitch- 
breath,  Bob  Collins,  Guss  Butterfield,  Jas.  Smith,  Pete  Lind- 
weber,  Henry  Lindweber,  Sr.,  Thos.  Colbath,  Hilliary  Col- 
bath,  Fritz  Hitchfeli,  Kansas  Miller,  Arnold  Capt  and  Josh 
Nicholson,  the  cook.  And  today  as  1 pen  this  sketch  I feel 
alone  and  lonely,  for  most  of  these  comrades  and  many  other 
cowboy  associates  of  that  day  have  passed  over  the  river 
except  H.  C.  Aten  a friend  beloved,  and  true.  No  better 
cowboy  ever  graced  or  disgraced  the  hurricane  deck  of  a 
Spanish  pony  and  if  he  did  usually  hang  his  long  carcass  on 
the  left  side  of  his  mount  with  his  hind  leg  in  his  flank  and 
roped  with  his  left  paw,  he  was  always  “Charley  at  the 
wheel,”  never  found  wanting,  but  on  the  spot  ready  to  de- 
liver the  goods. 

On  the  trail  that  year  water  was  scarce,  herds  plentiful 
and  dust  more  so.  The  first  few  days  nothing  occurred  to 
break  the  monotony  or  hush  the  hum  drum  of  the  cow  boys 
ragtime  music,  until  we  were  crossing  the  Colorado  River  be- 
low Austin.  Had  a stampede  there  early  in  the  morning  and 
after  a hard  day’s  work  we  put  the  last  bovine  over  just 
before  sunset.  The  chuck  wagon  having  been  sent  across 
the  bridge  into  Austin  for  supplies  with  instructions  to  camp 
on  the  trail  north  of  the  city,  eating  was  all  out  until  3 p.  m. 
next  day.  It’s  a good  appetizer;  try  it.  I am  recording  an- 
other stampede  that  is  written  indelibly  on  memory’s  page 
— a stampede  of  men.  It  occurred  one  dreadful  hot  July  day 
when  the  sun  was  at  full  tide  and  the  wind  refused  to  blow. 
It  is  said  men  are  like  monkeys — imitative  creatures.  One 
of  the  boys  dropped  back  to  the  wagon  and  disrobed  down  to 
undershirt  and  drawers.  He  looked  so  cool  that  all  tried  the 
experiment,  some  leaving  everything  in  the  wagon  but  un- 
dershirt and  government  drawers.  It  was  on  the  prairie  near 
the  head  of  Elm  and  happened  to  be  Sunday,  as  we  were  re- 
minded when  we  were  met  by  a whole  camp  meeting  -crowd 
of  young  ladies  and  their  beaus  on  horseback.  The  boss  and 
the  wagon  had  gone  on  ahead  and  the  boys  wished  they 
could  also  vanish.  The  boss  who  would  rather  have  fun 
and  go  to  hell  in  a go-cart  than  miss  it  and  go  to  Heaven 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


331 


in  a chariot,  had  instructed  the  young  folks  to  pass  by  the 
herd  on  both  sides  and  they  did  so,  hence  the  stampede. 
Some  of  the  boys  went  off  at  a tangent  east  to  see  how  the 
range  looked,  others  went  west  in  search  of  water  to  fill 
their  canteens,  a few  thoughtfuls  dropped  to  the  rear  to  push 
up  the  drags,  while  others  held  their  ground  trying  to  hide 
their  embarrassment  by  trying  to  put  the  words  “I  would 
not  live  all  way,  1 ask  not  to  stay”  to  music. 

After  crossing  Red  River  at  Red  River  Station  and  enter- 
ing the  Indian  Nation,  now  Oklahoma,  the  things  of  interest 
or  disinterest  that  accompanied  the  drive  were  many  stam- 
pedes, sleepless  nights,  gyp  water  and  poor  chuck,  constituted 
our  bill  fo  fare.  Occasionally  some  of  the  boys  would  ride 
into  camp  weary,  with  a bad  liver,  venting  their  spleen  on 
the  patient  cook,  but  as  he  was  no  hog  and  knew  when  he 
had  enough  old  Betsy  (his  44  Colt’s)  which  he  kept  in  the 
chuck  wagon  as  a liver  regulator  was  sometimes  resorted  to, 
usually  bringing  order  out  of  chaos.  Buffalo,  antelope  and 
Indians  were  much  in  evidence,  and  an  occasional  buffalo 
was  shot.  Chasing  them  afforded  great  sport,  but  as  for 
chasing  Indians,  that  was  out  of  the  question,  for  at  that 
time  they  were  under  the  watch  care  of  government  agents, 
and  as  Uncle  Sam  was  trying  to  tame  his  Indians  we  quietly 
passed  them  by. 

On  August  1st  Bluff  Creek  was  crossed  and  the  herd 
thrown  off  the  trail  to  graze  on  the  plains  of  Kansas.  After 
a few  more  days  of  hard  driving  we  stopped  on  Turkey 
Creek  a few  miles  south  of  Abilene.  Some  of  the  hands 
bought  wagons  and  returned  to  Texas  via  Arkansaw  where 
they  loaded  apples.  Others  remained  with  the  herd,  remov- 
ing it  later  up  the  Platte  River  to  winter  quarters.  T.  J. 
Moore  and  I cut  out  our  small  interest  in  the  Johnson  herd 
and  moved  on,  he  going  up  the  Solomon  River  and  I estab- 
lished winter  quarters  on  the  Smoky  Hill  River  above  Abilene 
where  I wintered  and  suffered.  Thawing  out  in  the  spring 
I hit  the  grit  for  Sunny  Texas,  a poorer  but  wiser  man.  In 
closing  this  sketch  I wish  to  bear  joyous  testimony  to  the  fact 
that  in  all  my  association  with  men  of  various  vocations  I 
have  found  no  friends  more  noble,  true  and  generous  to  the 


332 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


limit  than  the  cowmen  of  yesterday  and  today.  Some  are  es- 
pecially blessed  with  this  world’s  goods,  dear  companions  and 
many  true  friends,  yet  without  the  companionship  of  Jesus, 
the  truest  friend;  the  desolate  winds  of  sorrow  and  loneli- 
ness will  sweep  over  your  soul  and  for  this  reason,  now  and 
then,  despite  all  the  happy  experiences  that  may  come  to  you 
through  the  companionship  of  earthly  friends  there  will  some- 
times be  indescribable  longing  in  your  soul  that  earthly  friends 
cannot  satisfy.  You  need  the  companionship  of  Christ. 

“It  is  my  joy  in  life  to  find 
At  every  turn  of  the  road 
The  strong  arm  of  comrades  kind 
To  help  me  on  with  my  load. 

And  since  I have  no  gold  to  give 
And  love  alone  must  make  amends 
My  only  prayer  is  while  I live 
God  make  me  worthy  of  my  friends.” 


THE  COST  OF  MOVING  A HERD  TO  NORTHERN 
MARKETS 

By  Col.  Ike  T.  Pryor,  of  San  Antonio. 

Trail  driving  of  cattle  from  Texas  to  Northwestern  states 
in  the  old  trail  days  was  reduced  to  almost  a science,  and 
large  numbers  of  cattle  were  moved  at  the  minimum  cost. 

To  illustrate,  I drove  fifteen  herds  in  1884  from  South 
Texas  to  the  Northwestern  states.  It  required  a minimum  of 
165  men  and  about  1000  saddle  horses  to  move  this  entire 
drive.  In  other  words,  these  cattle  were  driven  in  droves 
of  3000  to  each  herd,  with  eleven  men,  including  the  boss, 
and  each  man  was  furnished  with  six  horses. 

The  salaries  of  these  eleven  men,  including  the  boss, 
were  $30.00  each  for  the  ten  men,  including  the  cook,  and 
$100.00  a month  for  the  boss.  This  gave  an  outlay  of 
$400.00  a month,  and  estimating  $100.00  for  provisions, 
there  was  an  expense  of  $500.00  a month  to  move  a herd  of 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


333 


3000  cattle  450  to  500  miles.  Briefly  speaking,  in  those 
days  it  was  possible  to  drive  3000  cattle  3000  miles  for 

53 000. 00,  or  in  other  words,  from  South  Texas  to  Montana 
a herd  could  be  driven  of  3000  head,  for  not  to  exceed 

53000.00.  My  average  expense  on  the  fifteen  herds  in  1884 
was  about  S500.00  per  month.  The  average  distance  trav- 
eled by  these  herds  was  from  4^0  to  500  miles  per  month 
and  when  1 had  sold  and  delivered  all  of  these  cattle  to  Mon- 
tana, Dakota  and  Wyoming  ranchmen,  I had  lost  1500  head 
or  3 per  cent. 

Today  it  would  cost  $2500  or  $3000  to  move  3000  steers 
from  Southern  Texas  to  Montana  and  the  only  way  they 
could  be  moved  would  be  by  rail.  And  I daresay  the  loss 
would  be  equal  to  3 per  cent. 

The  old  trail  drivers  had  a margin  of  from  $3.00  to  $4.00 
a head  between  Texas  and  the  Northwest.  In  1884,  I paid 

5 1 2.00  for  my  yearlings,  $16.00  for  my  two-year  olds,  and 

520.00  for  my  three-year-olds,  and  I had  them  contracted  to 
the  ranchmen  of  the  Northwest  at  $4.00  a head  margin. 
1884  was  the  last  heavy  drive  made  and  in  the  fall  of  that 
year,  cattle  started  down  and  continually  went  down  each 
year  for  nine  years.  In  other  words,  stock  cattle  in  Texas 
was  selling  at  about  $25.00  a head  in  1884  and  went  as 
low  as  $6.00  a head  in  1893.  Good  Panhandle  cattle  were 
selling  in  1893  for  $10.00  per  head  and  South  Texas  cattle 
were  selling  at  about  $6.00  per  head.  As  proof  of  this 
fact,  I bought  the  Cross  S cattle,  about  10,000  head  at 
S6.30  per  head,  no  calves  counted,  a guarantee  of  2500 
three  and  four  year  old  steers  out  of  a possible  number  of 

10.000  head.  These  cattle  were  loaded  on  board  the  cars 
for  me  at  Uvalde  and  Spofford  at  this  price. 

1 remember  one  trip  I made  with  a herd  when  not  a man 
had  a watch  or  a compass.  At  night  when  we  would  stop  the 
tongue  of  the  wagon  was  pointed  toward  the  north  star  and 
the  next  morning  when  we  made  our  start  we  would  take  the 
direction  indicated  by  the  wagon  tongue.  We  maintained 
four  guards  of  three  hours  each  during  each  night,  and  al- 
though we  had  no  time-piece  it  is  a fact  that  each  man  stood 
guard  fifteen  or  twenty  minutes  over  his  time,  and  the  last 


334 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


guard  for  the  night  had  the  short  watch.  This  shows  the 
generous  disposition  of  those  old  trail  boys,  in  that  they  would 
not  throw  off  on  their  comrades. 


LOST  TWENTY-ONE  THOUSAND  DOLLARS 
ON  ONE  DRIVE. 

By  John  S.  Kritzer,  Taylor,  Texas. 

I am  not  a member  of  the  Old  Trail  Drivers’  Association, 
having  never  put  in  my  application  for  membership,  but  be- 
ing in  a reminiscent  mood  I thought  1 would  write  a short 
sketch  of  what  1 saw  and  know  of  trail  life,  and  to  do  so  I 
will  have  to  go  back  with  Father  Time  to  my  earlier  days. 

1 was  born  in  Independence,  Mo.,  in  1842,  and  raised  on 
a farm  a little  while,  and  in  Joe  Shelby’s  Missouri  Cavalry 
Brigade  the  balance  of  the  time  from  1 86 1 to  1865.  When 
General  Robert  E.  Lee  surrendered,  General  Shelby  and  about 
three  hundred  of  us  boys  concluded  to  take  a ride  across  the 
Rio  Grande  and  help  Emperor  Maximillian  clean  up  Cortena, 
Juarez,  Diaz,  and  a few  other  brigands.  We  started  from 
Corsicana,  Texas,  all  young  daredevils  as  ever  fired  a shot 
at  the  Yankees  in  defense  of  our  beloved  Southland,  and  as 
good  marksmen  with  pistol  or  rifle  as  ever  rode  in  any  cav- 
alry brigade  of  any  country  on  earth.  We  knew  the  savas 
could  not  do  anything  toward  licking  us.  We  rode  down  to 
San  Antonio,  turned  west  and  went  through  Uvalde,  and 
crossed  the  Rio  Grande  at  Eagle  Pass.  At  Piedras  Negras 
we  had  a fight  with  the  Mexicans,  in  which  only  fourteen  of 
our  boys  were  involved,  but  we  killed  fourteen  Mexicans  who 
wanted  to  take  our  horses.  At  Uvalde  we  had  traded  some  of 
our  American  horses,  which  had  given  out,  for  some  horses 
that  had  Spanish  brands,  and  these  greasers  thought  they  would 
dismount  us.  Not  a man  in  our  crowd  could  speak  Span- 
ish, but  how  we  could  handle  our  gun ! They  had  our  horses 
by  the  bridle  reins  and  were  pointing  to  the  brands  on  them, 
while  we  were  laughing  at  them  for  we  knew  they  were  flirt- 
ing with  the  graveyard.  General  Shelby  saw  that  something 
was  going  wrong  and  came  to  us  and  asked  what  was  the 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


335 


matter.  We  told  him  that  from  the  signs  they  were  making 
those  devils  wanted  our  horses.  He  said,  “Hold  your  horses, 
and  kill  Mexicans.”  When  he  said  that,  every  man  pulled 
his  gun  and  shot  them  loose  from  our  bridles. 

There  was  a regiment  of  over  a thousand  Mexican  soldiers 
in  Piedras  Negras,  and  they  began  to  shoot  from  the  tops  of 
the  adobe  houses,  so  we  got  in  line,  and  as  their  guns  would 
not  shoot  more  than  one  hundred  yards,  while  we  were 
shooting  Sharps  Rifles  which  would  kill  a man  a thousand 
yards  away.  The  Mexican  colonel,  under  protection  of  a 
white  flag  as  large  as  a wagon  sheet,  and  accompanied  by 
his  staff,  came  out  to  where  we  had  our  battle  line,  and  told 
General  Shelby  that  he  was  the  “bravest  American  and  had 
the  bravest  men”  that  ever  crossed  the  Rio  Grande,  and  that 
if  his  people  bothered  our  men  or  our  horses  he  would  have 
them  shot.  General  Shelby  replied  through  the  interpreter 
that  he  had  issued  the  same  orders  to  us  and  he  could  find 
proof  of  that  fact  down  near  the  river  where  we  had  killed 
a few  of  his  d — d horse  thieves.  After  thanking  the  colonel 
very  kindly  for  the  compliment  paid  to  him  and  to  his  men, 
General  Shelby  marched  us  from  Piedras  Negras  to  Mon- 
terey, and  we  fought  bandits  and  revolutionists  all  the  way, 
killing  more  than  twice  the  number  of  our  force.  Of  course 
we  lost  some  men  too,  but  whenever  we  ran  onto  the  enemy 
they  belonged  to  us.  From  Monterey,  where  we  met  the 
Maximillian  French  soldiers,  and  our  friends  who  had  gone 
there  previously,  we  secured  passports  to  Mexico  City,  where, 
when  we  arrived,  Emperor  Maximillian  gave  us  land  near  Cor- 
doba to  start  a colony.  But  Maximillian  had  to  leave  Mexico 
City  and  escape  to  Quarretaro,  where  he  was  betrayed,  cap- 
tured and  executed  with  two  of  his  generals.  So  we  aban- 
doned the  colony  and  returned  to  Missouri.  After  returning 
home  I went  to  Wyoming  and  Montana  and  freighted  for 
Uncle  Sam. 

Leaving  Salt  Lake  City  for  Kansas  City  in  the  spring  of 
1869  I decided  to  come  to  Texas,  so  I came  down  through 
the  Indian  Territory  to  Llano  where  I bought  1000  steers, 
fours  and  up.  Three-year-olds  were  not  counted  beeves  in 
; those  days.  I drove  these  steers  to  Fort  Sill  and  sold  them 


336 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


to  an  Indian  contractor  for  the  government  and  in  the  fall 
drove  to  Baxter  Springs,  where  I made  the  acquaintance  of 
Doc  Day,  Isom  Goode  and  other  old  cowmen. 

In  1871  I drove  400  yoke  of  work  oxen  to  Fort  Harker 
in  the  Smoky  Hills  near  Ellsworth,  Kansas,  and  was  cap- 
tured by  the  Osage  Indians  after  I crossed  the  Cimarron  River 
with  my  horses.  They  held  me  prisoner  for  about  an  hour, 
and  I suppose  I would  have  been  scalped,  but  the  Indians  saw 
the  dust  of  a big  herd  being  driven  by  Jim  Scobey,  and  turned 
me  loose.  The  Osages  were  big  men,  and  rigged  out  in  war 
regalia.  Each  warrior  had  one  side  of  his  face  painted  red 
and  the  other  side  painted  black.  I saw  the  dust  kicked  up 
by  that  herd  and  called  the  Indians’  attention  to  it,  and  they 
immediately  left  me. 

The  next  year  or  two  I drove  to  Abilene,  Kansas,  on  the 
Smoky  River.  Bill  Hickok  was  city  marshall  there,  and  was 
a desperate  character.  I then  drove  to  Dodge  City,  taking 
one  herd  of  the  old  Jingle  Bob  steers  which  1 had  bought 
from  Coggin  Brothers  and  J.  M.  Dawson,  from  the  Plains  to 
Gainesville.  These  were  the  old  John  Chissum  steers  from 
Seven  Rivers,  near  Roswell,  New  Mexico,  and  the  most  of 
them  died  with  tick  fever.  Before  1 reached  Chicago  I lost 
$21,000  on  them,  and  was  busted. 

Major  L.  G.  Cairness  staked  me  in  1882,  when  he  con- 
tracted 10,000  steers  from  Dan  Wagoner.  1 received  only 
6,000  and  drove  them  to  Hunnewell,  Kansas,  in  four  herds, 
which  took  all  summer,  as  it  was  such  a short  drive.  We 
made  $72,000  on  this  drive,  lost  only  three  steers  and  saw 
lightning  kill  them.  This  was  my  last  trail  work. 

I would  be  delighted  to  meet  some  of  the  old  drovers  again. 
God  bless  them.  But  lots  of  them  have  laid  down  their  sad- 
dles, spurs  and  hobbles,  coiled  the  riatta,  and  crossed  the 
River  Styx  and  are  resting  in  the  shade  of  the  trees. 

Now  in  conclusion,  if  you  think  this  Epistle  of  John  to 
the  Cow  Punchers  of  the  old  Chisholm  Trail  is  of  any  conse- 
quence in  the  way  of  reminiscence,  or  will  cast  any  lustre  on 
the  fame  of  those  brave  and  daring  men  of  the  saddle  and 
trail,  put  it  in  your  book.  If  not,  cast  it  aside,  but  still  in 
friendship  remember  the  giver,  an  old  plainsman  who  has 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


337 


helped  to  skin  ’em,  fought  Yankees,  Mexicans,  wild  Indians 
and  cow  thieves.  Farewell  until  we  rattle  our  hocks  on 
the  other  side. 


MOSE  WESLEY  HAYS 

1015  W.  Agarita  Ave.,  San  Antonio,  Texas 

Mose  W.  Hays  was  a foremost  cattleman  and  business 
man  of  the  Northeastern  Panhandle  country,  and  was  one  of 
the  oldest  residents  in  that  part  of  the  state. 

During  the  quarter  of  a century  in  which  he  has  known 
the  Panhandle  all  the  agricultural  development  and  industrial 
changes  have  taken  place  there,  for  through  all  the  ages  dur- 
ing which  Northwest  Texas  had  been  a portion  of  the  new 
world  continent  its  resources  and  its  landscape  features  had 
never  experienced  such  development  and  mutation  as  they 
have  during  the  short  time  of  white  men’s  occupation  and 
exploitation  of  this  region.  Mr.  Hays  has  accordingly  wit- 
nessed all  the  important  history  of  that  section  of  the  state, 
and  is  one  of  the  few  men  whose  lot  has  been  permanently 
cast  with  the  Panhandle  since  1877. 

Born  in  Warren  County,  Kentucky,  Mr.  Hays  at  the  age 
of  two  years  was  taken  by  his  parents  N.  M.  and  Sarah 
(Philipps)  Hays,  both  native  Kentuckians,  to  Jackson  county, 
Missouri,  about  twenty-five  miles  east  of  Kansas  City  and 
later  the  family  became  pioneer  settlers  of  Colorado  in  which 
state  the  parents  spent  the  remainder  of  their  lives.  Mr. 
Hays  became  identified  with  the  cattle  industry  in  boyhood 
and  it  has  formed  his  principal  and  most  profitable  pursuit 
throughout  his  active  career.  In  1871  he  left  the  family 
home  in  Colorado  and  went  west,  spending  five  years  in 
Nevada  and  California,  during  most  of  which  time  he  was 
a cow  boy. 

From  the  Pacific  slope  he  came  east  to  Texas.  With  his 
brother-in-law  Joe  Morgan,  he  drove  a bunch  of  Mexican 
cattle  from  Corpus  Christi,  Texas,  to  the  open  range  in  the 
Panhandle  country.  This  was  in  1877  and  he  has  lived  in 
that  part  of  the  state  ever  since  until  the  past  five  years, 
when  he  took  up  his  residence  in  San  Antonio,  having  retired 


338 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


from  active  business.  It  makes  him  one  of  the  old  timers  as 
there  are  only  a few  now  living  there  who  were  in  the  Pan- 
handle as  early  as  that.  Up  to  1902  his  ranching  opera- 
tions were  carried  on  mostly  in  Hemphill  county,  where  for 
a number  of  years  he  had  the  noted  old  Springer  ranch.  His 
last  ranch  was  located  in  the  southeastern  part  of  Lipscomb 
county  where  he  owned  about  thirty-five  hundred  acres  of 
land,  his  residence  and  ranch  headquarters  being  three  miles 
south  of  Higgins.  His  ranch  was  known  for  its  typical  west- 
ern hospitality  as  well  as  for  progressive  and  enterprising 
methods  of  operating  which  were  everywhere  in  evidence, 
Mr.  Hays  has  been  uniformly  successful  in  the  cattle  busi- 
ness and  has  attained  a most  satisfactory  degree  of  prosperity. 
He  was  one  of  the  three  owners  comprising  the  Higgins  Hard- 
ware Co.,  which  conducted  the  leading  hardware  store  of 
Lipscomb  county 

In  numerous  other  affairs  of  public  and  business  nature 
he  has  exerted  his  influence,  and  he  is  a man  of  recognized 
ability  and  integrity  in  whatever  he  undertakes. 

Mr.  Hays  was  married  early  in  life  to  Miss  Lon  Turner  of 
Mills  County,  Iowa,  and  has  one  child,  Mrs.  L.  C.  Kelley  of 
Wichita,  Kansas,  who  as  Bonnie  Hays  attended  the  Mul- 
holland  school  in  San  Antonio.  In  April,  1912,  Mr.  Hays 
married  Miss  Bessie  Long  of  San  Antonio  (formerly  of 
Owensboro,  Kentucky)  and  for  the  past  four  years  they  have 
lived  in  their  home  in  Agarita  Avenue,  Beacon  Hill,  building 
one  of  the  first  modern  bungalows  on  that  street. 


THE  PLATTE  WAS  LIKE  A RIBBON  IN  THE  SUNSHINE 

By  J.  W.  Jackson,  Bartlett,  Texas. 

My  father  and  mother,  Jacob  and  Jane  Jackson  moved  to 
Texas  and  settled  on  Donahoe  Creek  in  Bell  county  in  Sep- 
tember, 1851,  when  I was  nine  years  old.  I have  two  broth- 
ers younger  than  myself  who  were  cowmen,  G.  W.  Jackson 
of  Cleo,  Oklahoma,  and  J.  D.  Jackson  of  Alpine,  Texas. 

When  I was  a lad  I chased  rabbits  and  lizards,  trapped 
birds,  fought  the  old  ganders,  rode  the  calves  in  the  milk 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


339 


N.  L.  WORD 


PRES.  TOM 


JOE  COTULLA 


W.  S.  HALL 


340 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


pen,  and  went  to  the  country  schools  when  I could  not  find 
an  excuse  to  stay  at  home.  When  the  Civil  War  came  on 
and  took  all  of  the  able-bodied  men,  they  left  their  cattle 
and  horses  almost  at  the  mercy  of  the  world,  so  the  old  men 
and  boys  tried  to  take  care  of  the  stock  that  was  left. 
That  was  when  my  hard  work  first  began,  for  I was  ex- 
pected to  do  the  work  of  a man. 

My  first  long  drive  up  the  trail  was  in  1872,  when  we 
trailed  2290  head  of  cattle  from  Tom  Lane’s  old  ranch  in 
Milam  county  to  Cheyenne,  Wyoming  Territory.  The  old 
trail  drivers  who  were  out  that  year  can  tell  what  heavy  and 
constant  rains  we  had  all  through  the  spring  and  summer. 
We  had  to  swim  all  of  the  rivers  and  creeks,  but  I think  we 
had  the  best  herd  to  cross  water  that  was  ever  driven  up  the 
trail.  In  our  herd  we  had  some  three  hundred  old  long-horn 
steers,  from  ten  to  fifteen  years  old,  which  had  been  raised 
in  Little  River  and  Brushy  bottoms  during  the  Civil  War, 
and  when  we  gathered  them  they  were  almost  as  wild  as 
deer.  There  was  a big  bunch  of  these  old  steers  that  worked 
in  the  lead  of  the  herd,  and  when  we  came  to  a river  or  creek 
that  was  swollen  these  old  steers  would  walk  right  into  the 
muddy  water  and  pull  for  the  other  side,  the  balance  of  the 
herd  following. 

We  had  one  little  scrap  with  the  Indians,  but  no  one  was 
hurt.  They  killed  one  steer  during  the  fight. 

We  crossed  Smoky  Hill  River  just  a short  distance  above 
the  little  town  of  Ellsworth,  Kansas.  The  village  was  on  the 
north  side  of  the  river  then,  and  when  we  arrived  there  the 
river  had  been  swollen  by  the  heavy  rains  and  looked  to  be 
a mile  wide  and  was  very  swift.  We  had  to  wait  until  it 
ran  down  within  its  banks  before  we  could  cross.  We  se- 
cured a small  boat  to  take  us  across  and  had  to  make  two 
trips  to  get  our  stuff  over. 

We  went  from  Ellsworth  to  Fort  Kearney,  Nebraska,  and 
struck  the  Platte  River,  traveling  up  this  stream  on  the  south 
side  for  nearly  four  hundred  miles,  grazing  the  herd  as  we 
went.  The  Platte  River  stretched  across  the  country  like  a 
ribbon  in  the  sunshine.  In  some  places  it  was  a mile  and  a 
quarter  wide,  and  a fertile  green  valley  reached  back  to  the 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


341 


hills  on  either  side,  no  shrubbery  being  visible  anywhere  ex- 
cept a few  big  cottonwood  trees.  We  found  game  here  in 
abundance,  deer,  antelope  and  buffalo,  and  I roped  two  buf- 
falo on  that  trip,  as  well  as  killing  several. 

We  delivered  the  cattle  near  Cheyenne,  Wyoming,  and  1 
took  the  saddle  horses  and  chuck  wagon  and  started  back 
home  over  the  same  trail,  reaching  Bell  county  just  before 
Christmas,  1872.  This  ended  my  first  long  drive. 

PUT  UP  FIVE  HUNDRED  STEERS  TO  SECURE  THREE 
HUNDRED  DOLLARS 

By  E.  L.  Brounson,  Sample,  Texas. 

1 was  born  September  14th,  1868,  and  have  spent  most 
of  my  life  in  the  cattle  business.  My  father  was  wounded  in 
the  Civil  War,  and  became  an  invalid,  so  when  I was  twelve 
years  old  I went  to  work  on  the  range  to  help  support  our 
family.  I helped  to  clean  the  first  pasture  that  was  fenced 
in  our  part  of  the  country.  This  pasture  belonged  to  Bob 
Bennett  and  was  rented  by  J.  D.  Houston,  now  deceased. 

We  moved  to  Cuero  in  1875,  at  the  time  when  the  Tay- 
lor-Sutton  feud  was  in  full  sway. 

In  1 883  I went  to  Goliad  county  with  a thousand  head 
of  cattle  belonging  to  old  man  George  Lord.  There  had 
been  a prolonged  drouth  in  the  upper  country,  and  we  heard 
that  there  was  a stretch  of  country  comprising  over  fifty 
thousand  acres  in  Goliad  county  where  the  range  was  open 
on  Turkey  Creek,  so  we  drove  these  cattle  there.  We 
were  the  first  to  reach  there  and  found  grass  good  and  wa- 
ter plentiful,  but  in  a short  time  other  cattle  were  moved  in 
and  by  the  first  of  November  there  were  fully  20,000  cat- 
tle brought  there  to  winter.  It  proved  a hard  winter,  for 
the  range  was  eaten  off  and  water  got  so  scarce,  the  cattle 
died  by  hundreds.  There  is  where  1 first  met  Green  David- 
son, who  was  there  looking  after  cattle.  You  may  not  be- 
lieve it  now,  but  I skinned  cattle  by  his  side  all  winter,  and 
will  say  he  could  take  the  hide  off  a cow  just  as  quick  as  any 
man  you  ever  saw.  I also  met  G.  A.  Ray  there.  He  and 


342 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


his  father  put  700  two-year-old  heifers  on  that  range  and 
got  back  240.  In  the  spring  of  1884  I hired  to  Mr.  Ray  for 
$12  per  month,  and  went  home  with  him  where  I broke 
horses,  dug  post  holes  and  worked  cattle  until  the  spring  of 
1885,  when  I went  out  to  Alpine,  and  on  to  the  Rio  Grande. 
Here  we  were  provided  with  mounts,  eight  horses  for  day 
work  and  one  gentle  horse  for  night  riding.  These  day 
mounts  were  half-broke  ponies  and  had  been  out  on  the 
range  about  a year.  We  were  given  thirty-six  shoes  to  put 
on  the  nine  horses  and  told  to  shoe  them.  I had  never  shod 
a horse  in  my  life,  but  went  at  it  and  guess  I made  a good 
job  of  it  for  we  used  those  horses  right  along  and  no  one 
ever  made  complaint  about  our  work.  Our  boss  was  Gid 
Guthrie,  who  died  a few  years  ago  at  Alpine.  We  gathered 
our  herd  on  the  Rio  Grande  and  drove  it  across  the  plains 
to  Honeywell,  Kansas. 

In  1886  we  drove  a herd  over  the  same  trail  for  Lee 
Kokernot  of  Gonzales,  with  Gid  Guthrie  as  boss.  That 
same  year  we  drove  a herd  belonging  to  George  Miller  of 
the  101  Ranch,  then  on  the  Arkansas  River  in  the  Indian 
Territory.  When  I got  back  home  I had  my  wages  in  my 
pocket,  and  I had  two  good  horses,  so  began  to  buy  a few 
cattle  for  myself.  At  that  time  the  country  was  open  from 
Cuero  to  Colorado,  and  by  1893  1 had  accumulated  a herd 
of  500  or  600  head  of  cattle,  and  moved  them  to  Bee 
county,  near  Mineral  City,  where  I rented  the  old  Charlie 
Fox  pasture  which  I later  disposed  of  with  my  cattle  to 
Kenedy,  Clair  & Wood  for  $ 14  per  head. 

My  first  attempt  to  borrow  money  was  at  a bank  in  Cuero 
which  had  been  in  existence  about  a year.  1 wanted  to  bor- 
row $300  which  I needed  to  pay  the  lease  on  the  pasture  I 
had  rented  and  the  president  of  the  bank  made  me  put  up 
500  two-year-old  steers  as  security. 

I went  broke  in  1903  at  Elgin,  Kansas,  and  have  been 
broke  so  many  times  since  that  1 have  no  record  of  the 
number.  Passed  through  the  drouth  of  1917,  and  rented 
a Johnson  grass  patch  near  San  Antonio  and  let  my  cattle 
graze  the  suburbs  of  that  city. 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


343 


SOME  INTERESTING  THINGS  SEEN  ON  THE 
CATTLE  TRAIL. 

By  John  B.  Conner,  Yoakum,  Texas. 

I was  on  the  trail  in  1885  with  the  — X outfit  for  Lytle 
& Stevens,  who  had  six  herds  of  3000  head  each  and  one 
herd  of  2000  head,  the  last  mentioned  herd  being  bossed 
by  A1  Jones,  a negro.  My  boss  was  a white  man  named  J. 
G.  Jones  of  Gonzales.  Other  bosses  from  Gonzales  were 
Arthur  Johnson,  W.  W.  Peavey,  Milton  Fly,  and  the  well 
known  Mac  Stewart  was  our  pilot  through  the  Panhandle. 
I could  go  into  detail  and  give  some  interesting  accounts  of 
the  drives  1 was  in,  but  will  confine  my  sketch  to  some  of 
the  things  of  interest  to  me  that  I witnessed  that  year. 

The  first  bad  thunder  storm  I was  in  occurred  on  the 
Salt  Fork  of  Red  River  when  1 was  on  night  herd  with  the 
saddle  horses.  The  lightning  was  continuous,  so  was  the 
thunder,  which  was  most  terrific.  While  the  storm  was 
in  progress  the  horses  bunched  together  around  me,  stuck 
their  heads  between  their  knees  and  moaned  and  groaned 
till  1 became  frightened  and  decided  that  the  end  of  time 
had  come.  I was  only  nineteen  years  old,  and  thought  I 
was  as  brave  as  any  man,  but  the  action  of  the  horses  was 
too  much  for  me,  so  1 got  down  off  my  horse  and  lay  flat 
down  on  the  ground  and  tried  to  die,  but  could  not.  The 
storm  passed  on,  and  I found  myself  unhurt,  so  after  that 
fearful  experience  1 did  not  mind  other  storms. 

Another  thing  that  interested  me  was  the  catching  of 
mustang  horses  in  No  Man’s  Land.  One  day  1 ran  across 
a party  of  men  in  camp  who  were  making  the  capturing  of 
these  mustangs  a business.  They  had  several  head  tethered 
nearby  which  they  had  just  captured,  and  showed  me  a 
large  bunch  standing  about  a mile  away  which  they  in- 
formed me  they  had  been  running  for  seven  days.  These 
men  worked  in  relays  or  reliefs  and  kept  the  mustangs  on 
the  go  without  permitting  them  to  rest  or  get  to  watering 
places.  In  the  seven  days  three  colts  had  died  from  ex- 
haustion. The  men  told  me  they  kept  just  in  sight  of 
them  to  keep  them  on  the  run  all  day,  and  finally  ran 


344 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


them  down.  The  captured  horses  I saw  there  were  all 
beauties. 

About  sixty  miles  south  of  the  Palo  Duro  River  I saw 
the  first  drift  fence,  which  had  been  constructed  to  catch 
drifting  cattle  during  blizzards.  This  fence  ran  east  and 
west  across  the  plains  and  served  its  purpose  well,  but  oc- 
casioned heavy  losses  in  some  instances.  As  I journeyed  on 
and  when  within  about  twenty  miles  of  the  Palo  Duro,  I 
began  to  see  dead  cattle  every  few  hundred  yards,  and  the 
nearer  1 approached  to  the  river  the  carcasses  seemed  to 
increase  until  I reached  the  river  where  there  were  literally 
hundreds  of  dead  cattle  scattered  around  over  the  prairie. 

1 was  told  by  the  round  up  men  that  these  cattle  had  drifted 
down  to  the  drift  fence  where  they  almost  perished  for  wa- 
ter and  when  they  came  back  to  the  river  they  drank  so 
much  water  it  killed  them. 

We  had  3000  head  of  the  — X cattle  in  our  herd  and  had 
to  make  a three  days’  drive  without  water  to  get  to  the  river. 
There  were  also  two  more  herds  of  2000  each  of  the  JA 
brand,  bossed  by  Fly  and  Doak,  following  us,  making  7000 
head  in  all,  and  when  we  reached  the  Palo  Duro  River  where 
the  old  stage  line  from  Dodge  City  to  New  Mexico  crossed 
the  stream,  we  found  about  twenty  outfits  of  round-up  ranch 
hands  there  with  a lot  of  gathered  cattle.  1 thought  sure 
we  were  going  to  have  a general  mix-up  that  night,  for  1 
never  saw  so  many  cattle  in  my  life  before,  but  we  kept  sep- 
arated by  lots  of  hard  work  and  constant  riding.  We  did 
not  drink  the  river  water  ourselves,  but  dug  shallow  pits 
away  from  the  river,  let  the  water  seep  in  and  used  that. 

Sometimes  the  cowboys,  when  off  herd,  would  have  great 
sport  chasing  antelope,  but  could  not  catch  them.  There  was 
a certain  species  of  wolf  in  that  region  called  a “swift,”  of  a 
dark  brown  color,  which  we  often  tried  to  catch  but  they 
were  too  swift  for  us.  We  often  captured  wild  turkey  gobblers 
which  had  strayed  out  from  the  rivers  to  the  level  prairie. 
When  we  jumped  them  they  would  fly  a mile  or  two,  then 
we  would  run  them  down. 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


345 


UP  THE  TRAIL  TO  NORTHERN  NEW  MEXICO. 

By  L.  A.  Franks,  of  Pleasanton,  Texas. 

I was  born  in  Guadalupe  county,  Texas,  on  the  San  Ge- 
ronimo  Creek,  February  21,  1847.  Moved  to  Atascosa  coun- 
ty in  1853.  My  father,  Ben  F.  Franks  being  a cattleman 
from  his  boyhood  days,  1 was  raised  a cowboy  from  the 
cradle  up  and  spent  my  boyhood  days  in  Atascosa  county.. 
My  father  having  passed  away  in  1862,  myself  and  brother 
were  left  to  take  care  of  our  mother  and  sisters.  I worked 
cattle  and  fought  Indians  for  several  years,  and  in  1867  I 
settled  on  a ranch  of  my  own  in  LaSalle  county.  Was  mar- 
ried in  1870  to  Miss  Caroline  Chapman  of  Bell  county. 
After  several  years  raising  cattle  I started  up  the  trail  with 
my  first  herd  in  1872  for  G.  W.  Chapman  and  myself.  I 
left  LaSalle  county  in  March  for  the  Wichita,  Kansas,  mar- 
ket, and  went  by  way  of  San  Antonio,  Austin  and  Fort  Worth, 
and  straight  on  up  the  trail.  We  left  with  1000  head  of 
steers  and  with  plenty  of  water  and  grass  we  had  a good  trip 
and  lost  only  a small  number  of  steers  on  the  way,  arriving 
at  the  Wichita  market  in  June.  Returning  to  my  ranch  I 
remained  there  until  1886  and  started  up  the  trail  again  for 
Presnail,  Withers  & Co.,  this  time  for  Northern  New  Mexixco. 
1 left  Presidio  county  in  April  and  this  trip  was  full  of  hard- 
ships all  the  way  out  to  Roswell,  New  Mexico.  We  went  by 
way  of  Alpine  and  Toyah  and  struck  the  Pecos  River  at 
Hash  Knife  Ranch  and  the  night  we  got  there  our  herd  stam- 
peded early  in  the  night  and  we  did  not  get  them  checked 
until  early  morning.  Again  at  Toyah  we  had  a stampede  that 
lasted  all  night  and  until  sunrise  the  next  morning  and  this 
time  we  lost  22  head  of  steers.  We  went  up  the  Pecos  to 
Seven  Rivers  and  on  up.  Striking  the  Pecos  again  we  fol- 
lowed it  as  far  as  Roswell,  New  Mexico.  We  had  a tough 
time  getting  there,  with  no  grass  and  no  rain.  We  suffered 
heavy  losses  all  the  way  up  the  Pecos,  pulling  and  digging 
cattle  out  of  bogs  every  day  and  losing  some  each  day.  We 
were  a dilapidated  looking  bunch,  cattle,  horses  and  men  and 
when  we  arrived  within  five  miles  of  Roswell  we  had  a glo- 
rious rain  and  storm  that  made  our  trip  the  balance  of  the 
way  very  good.  We  left  the  Pecos  at  Roswell  and  went  up 


346 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


by  old  Fort  Sumner,  crossed  over  to  the  Canadian  River 
and  by  the  old  Bell  Ranch,  then  went  on  up  the  Goodnight 
trail  through  the  mountains  and  reached  the  market  in 
July  with  1600  head  of  steers  out  of  the  2200  that  we  left 
Presidio  county  with  in  April.  This  was  my  last  trip  up 
the  trail  and  I came  back  to  Atascosa  county  and  am  still 
here. 


MADE  SEVERAL  TRIPS  UP  THE  TRAIL. 

By  N.  L.  Word,  Alice,  Texas. 

I was  born  in  Noonan,  Georgia,  June  6,  1846,  and  came 
to  Texas  when  but  a boy.  Made  my  first  trip  up  the  trail  in 
1871  with  my  brother  Charlie,  who  had  500  big  steers,  which 
we  placed  in  a herd  of  500  more  belonging  to  Emmet  Rut- 
ledge and  John  Scott,  which  made  a herd  of  1000,  and  we 
started  from  Gonzales,  drove  them  to  Abilene,  Kansas,  and 
sold  the  steers  belonging  to  Rutledge  and  Scott,  while  Brother 
Charlie  drove  our  steers  on  to  Omaha,  Nebraska. 

My  next  trip  was  with  1200  head  of  horses  belonging  to 
D.  R.  Fant  and  myself.  This  was  the  first  large  bunch  of 
horses  driven  up  the  trail.  As  we  disposed  of  these  horses 
at  a good  figure  1 took  another  herd  of  horses  the  next  sea- 
son, 900  head.  We  bought  the  first  herd  from  Upshur 
Brookin,  Mike  Carrigan  and  Tom  Welder,  and  1 purchased 
the  second  herd  from  John  Welder. 

After  that,  the  next  year,  I drove  2000  one  and  two-year- 
old  steers  to  Ogallala,  Nebraska,  and  when  we  reached  there 
I put  in  2000  more  with  the  herd  and  drove  to  Sydney 
Bridge,  Nebraska,  where  I delivered  half  of  them  to  D.  R. 
Fant,  who  owned  them,  the  remaining  2000  were  driven  to 
the  999  Ranch  in  Wyoming,  where  I delivered  them  to 
parties  who  had  contracted  with  Mr.  Fant  for  them. 

My  next  trip  was  with  2500  two-year-olds  which  were 
taken  to  the  R — S Ranch  on  Wolf  Creek,  Indian  Territory, 
and  delivered  to  D.  R.  Fant,  who  had  purchased  the  lease  on 
this  ranch  and  had  also  purchased  4000  cattle  with  the  lease. 
Mr.  Fant  also  bought  the  17 — Ranch  lease  and  cattle, 
about  1500  head. 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


347 


I made  a trip  from  Santa  Rosa  ranch  with  2500  two-year- 
old  steers.  I drove  these  for  half  the  profit;  the  price  Mr. 
Fant  put  on  them  was  $12  per  head.  I took  them  to  Runnels 
county  and  sold  them  to  John  Blocker,  after  the  trail  was 
closed. 

I have  bought  cattle  all  over  the  country  from  the  Santa 
Rosa  Ranch  to  San  Fernandez,  Mexico,  but  during  the  past 
few  years  my  activities  have  been  limited  in  this  respect  for 
I have  bought  and  shipped  only  a few.  1 bossed  the  Santa 
Rosa  ranch  for  D.  R.  Fant  for  eight  years,  and  helped  put 
up  many  herds  for  him. 


PROBABLY  THE  OLDEST  FEEDER  IN  TEXAS. 

By  R.  F.  Sellers,  Matthis,  Texas. 

My  father,  Robert  Sellers,  came  to  Texas  in  1835,  from 
Tennessee  and  was  one  of  the  first  men  to  build  a log  house 
in  LaGrange.  He  secured  a headright  of  a league  of  land 
in  the  lower  part  of  Gonzales  county,  but  did  not  think 
enough  of  it  to  even  go  to  see  it.  He  was  one  of  the  num- 
ber who  went  from  LaGrange  at  Sam  Houston’s  call  to  hold 
Gonzales  from  the  invading  Mexican  army,  but  there  were 
not  enough  Texans  to  accomplish  this  task,  so  General  Hous- 
ton detailed  him  and  a few  others  to  keep  the  women  and 
children  ahead  of  the  Mexican  army. 

I was  born  in  Fayette  county  in  1849.  Father  bought  a 
fine  tract  of  land  on  the  prairie  on  the  east  side  of  the  Colo- 
rado River,  fourteen  miles  above  Columbus,  and  moved  there 
in  1852,  and  when  I was  twenty-one  years  old  he  turned  his 
stock  and  farm  over  to  me. 

In  1871  1 made  a trip  up  the  trail  to  Newton,  Kansas, 
with  Barnes  & Seymour.  We  had  several  hundred  old  wild 
steers  in  the  herd  that  were  from  four  to  fifteen  years  old 
which  had  been  raised  in  the  brush  on  the  Sandies,  and  they 
stampeded  frequently,  giving  us  a world  of  trouble.  So  right 
there  I gained  a lot  of  experience  in  handling  stampeded  cat- 
tle that  has  been  worth  a great  deal  to  me  in  working  with 
cattle  in  the  years  that  followed.  We  started  this  herd  about 


348 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


the  10th  of  May  and  reached  Newton  the  12th  of  August. 
After  we  passed  Fayette  county  there  were  but  few  settle- 
ments, and  when  we  got  up  near  Red  River  we  found  it  to  be 
a wild  country.  Almost  every  man  we  met  carried  two  six- 
shooters  and  a winchester  for  protection.  When  we  passed 
through  the  Indian  Territory  we  had  no  trouble  with  the  In- 
dians, but  they  attempted  to  stampede  our  herd  several 
times.  Two  or  three  miles  off  the  trail  there  were  thou- 
sands of  buffalo,  all  the  way  to  Kansas,  but  they  were  too 
wild  for  us  to  get  near  them,  and  the  only  way  to  approach 
near  enough  to  kill  the  buffalo  was  to  take  advantage  of  the 
wind  and  get  on  the  wind  side  of  them.  Many  men  in  those 
days  made  it  a business  to  kill  and  skin  buffaloes  for  their 
hides  which  they  hauled  into  the  forts  and  sold.  On  this 
trip  I saw  seven  head  together  that  had  been  killed  and 
skinned. 

There  were  a great  many  wild  horses  to  be  seen,  but  they 
were  also  too  wild  for  us  to  get  very  close  to  them.  One 
day  a man  nooned  at  our  camp  who  told  us  that  he  had 
made  a great  deal  of  money  for  several  years  capturing  these 
mustangs.  He  had  erected  pens  at  convenient  distances  into 
which  to  run  them.  These  pens  were  made  of  poles  which 
had  been  hauled  from  the  river  bottoms  twenty-five  to  fifty 
miles  distant.  In  capturing  these  horses  he  told  us  that  his 
system  was  to  keep  right  after  them  in  a walk  keeping  up 
the  same  gait  day  and  night,  never  allowing  them  to  ap- 
proach a water  hole  or  take  time  to  graze,  and  in  due  time 
he  could  drive  them  into  his  pens.  He  sold  them  to  the 
farmers  in  Kansas,  as  that  country  was  just  settling  up. 

I commenced  feeding  cattle  in  1876.  In  1882  we  sold 
our  farm  and  I went  into  the  cattle  business,  paying  as  high 
as  $22. So  per  head  for  my  cattle.  In  1884  the  price  had 
declined  to  $5  a head,  and  I drove  them  to  Colorado  and  sold 
them. 

In  1885  I put  up  a herd  for  Graham  & Sisson  of  Colo- 
rado, with  the  understanding  that  1 was  to  buy  and  put  in 
with  them  if  I wanted  to  do  so.  I gathered  these  cattle  in 
Lampasas  and  adjoining  counties,  and  it  was  a very  dry  spring, 
the  worst  that  had  been  experienced  in  many  years.  There 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


349 


was  but  little  water  on  the  trail  from  Lampasas  to  the  Indian 
Nation.  We  drove  the  herd  to  Baird  City  and  shipped  them 
by  way  of  Fort  Worth  up  to  Pease  River.  After  we  crossed 
Red  River  we  found  but  little  water  that  our  cattle  would 
drink,  and  we  traveled  at  one  time  three  days  and  nights 
without  water  for  them,  but  the  morning  of  the  fourth  day 
a heavy  rain  storm  came  upon  us  and  filled  all  of  the  shal- 
low holes  in  the  ground  with  water  and  supplied  our  herd. 
I never  in  my  life  saw  cattle  drink  as  much  as  that  herd 
drank.  From  there  on  we  did  not  have  difficulty  in  getting 
water  and  grass,  and  made  it  to  the  Graham  & Sissons 
Ranch  in  Colorado  with  our  cattle  in  fine  shape. 

1 suppose  1 am  the  oldest  feeder  in  the  state,  as  1 com- 
menced in  1876  and  have  missed  only  four  or  five  winters 
since  that  time.  1 have  bought  steers  in  every  county  from 
Brown  and  Comanche  to  the  coast,  and  have  sold  from  $2.7 5 
to  $14.75. 


THE  SON  OF  A WELL  KNOWN  TRAIL  DRIVER. 

By  Robert  Farmer  Jennings  of  San  Antonio,  Texas. 

My  parents  are  Robert  J.  and  Dorcas  Ann  Jennings.  I 
was  born  September  30,  1881,  in  Guadalupe  County,  Texas, 
and  when  1 was  three  years  of  age  my  -parents  moved  to 
Frio  county,  where  they  resided  near  Pearsall  until  I was 
fifteen  years  old.  The  following  three  years  I attended  school 
in  San  Antonio,  after  which  I went  to  Childress  county  and 
spent  six  months  on  the  Shoe  Nail  Ranch,  which  belonged 
to  Swift  & Company,  meat  packers,  where  I worked  as  a cow- 
boy. My  father  at  the  time  was  manager  of  this  ranch.  In 
July,  1899,  I returned  to  South  Texas  and  began  to  collect 
a bunch  of  cattle  of  my  own,  and  ranched  in  Dimmitt,  La- 
Salle and  Zapata  counties  for  the  following  five  or  six  years, 
during  which  time  a drouth  prevailed  over  the  country  and  I 
lost  all  of  my  accumulation  of  cattle.  I went  to  Mexico  in 
1907  as  manager  of  the  Piedra  Blanca  Ranch  and  remained 
there  until  April,  1909,  then  returned  to  Texas  and  began 
handling  cattle  with  my  uncle,  W.  H.  Jennings.  From  here 
I went  to  Osage  county,  Oklahoma,  and  spent  two  seasons, 


350 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


again  returning'  to  Texas  to  engage  in  buying  and  bringing 
cattle  out  of  Mexico.  At  the  time  of  President  Madero’s 
assassination  I was  on  General  Trevino’s  La  Bahia  Ranch  to 
buy  cattle,  but  we  could  not  agree  on  the  price.  General  Tre- 
vino sold  several  thousand  head  of  his  cattle  to  other  parties 
and  lost  the  remainder  entirely  through  being  at  enmity  with 
Carranza,  who  confiscated  the  Trevino  cattle  and  had  them 
driven  to  Piedras  Negras  in  great  herds  and  killed  for  his  sol- 
diers. Out  of  40,000  head  General  Trevino  lost  outright 
probably  25,000. 

I ranched  in  Texas  until  1916,  when  some  associates  and 
myself  bought  the  majority  interest  in  the  Piedra  Blanca  Cat- 
tle Company  of  Mexico  cattle  and  I went  to  that  ranch  as 
manager.  I stayed  there  one  year,  but  on  account  of  having 
no  protection  from  the  bandits  that  infested  that  region,  we 
sold  these  cattle  and  brought  them  to  this  side  of  the  Rio 
Grande  into  Texas.  1 returned  to  Atascosa  county,  where  I 
was  interested  in  cattle,  and  have  spent  the  remainder  of  the 
intervening  time  in  South  Texas. 

1 was  married  to  Miss  Ella  Alberta  Lowrey  in  December, 
1917,  and  am  now  residing  in  San  Antonio.  1 have  cattle  in- 
terests in  LaSalle  and  Dimmitt  counties  in  connection  with 
W.  H.  and  J.  D.  Jennings. 

In  September,  1919,  1 was  elected  secretary  of  the  Old 
Time  Trail  Drivers’  Association,  which  position  I still  hold. 
Being  the  son  of  an  old  trail  driver  I complied  with  the  re- 
quest of  Mr.  George  W.  Saunders,  the  president,  to  give  this 
brief  sketch  of  my  life. 


WHEN  “LOUISIANA”  CAME  TO  TEXAS. 

By  T.  M.  Turner,  San  Antonio,  Texas. 

On  August  9,  1869,  I arrived  at  Goliad,  from  Louisiana. 
At  Richmond  1 overtook  Bryant  Reynolds  and  Leander  But- 
ler, who  were  on  their  way  to  Goliad,  and  accepted  their 
invitation  to  travel  with  them.  I had  come  to  Texas  to  be 
a cowboy.  During  the  Civil  War  I had  served  as  a scout 
in  the  Confederate  Army,  and  had  encountered  some  thrill- 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


351 


JERRY  M.  NANCE 


JAMES  GIBSON 


352 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


ing  experiences  while  acting  in  that  capacity,  but  I always 
wanted  to  be  a cowboy,  for  it  was  a life  that  particularly  ap- 
pealed to  me. 

We  traveled  through  the  piney  woods  for  two  days,  after 
which  we  came  to  the  prairie  and  here  I encountered  a young 
Englishman  named  Johnson,  under  a live  oak  tree  unsaddling 
his  horse.  He  had  recently  arrived  from  England  and  was 
on  his  way  to  Rockport,  but  decided  to  accompany  us.  John- 
son was  a pretty  green  tenderfoot,  like  myself,  and  when  he 
found  a jackrabbit  he  tried  to  catch  him  with  a rope,  think- 
ing the  rabbit  was  crippled  because  he  ran  off  on  three  legs 
and  had  a bump  on  one  side  of  his  tail.  The  last  time  I saw 
that  Englishman  he  was  still  running  that  rabbit.  We  arrived 
at  Ranee  Taylor’s  ranch,  and  next  day  I was  engaged  by  Mr. 
Taylor  to  build  a corn  crib.  While  at  this  work,  B.  F. 
(Dock)  Burris,  a prominent  stockman  of  Bee  county,  came 
there  and  wanted  to  know  if  there  was  a chap  on  the  ranch 
who  wanted  work.  Mr.  Taylor  told  him  he  could  probably 
employ  me,  so  we  made  a trade.  He  was  to  start  me  at 
$12.50  per  month  and  raise  my  wages  as  1 made  good.  So 
I started  my  cowboy  life  August  1 8,  1 869,  on  Goat  Creek, 
Goliad  county,  Texas,  and  began  rounding  up  on  Pettus  Prai- 
rie. When  we  threw  the  cattle  together  I thought  we  had  all 
the  cattle  in  Texas  there,  and  would  have  nothing  to  do  the 
following  day.  Dock  Burris  said  to  me,  “Louisiana,  you  go 
over  to  those  mesquite  trees  and  hold  them  as  we  cut  them 
out.  If  you  need  help  I will  send  another  hand  to  you.”  I 
did  as  I was  told,  and  presently  I heard  Bryant  Reynolds  say- 
ing, “Here  she  is,  Dock,”  and  the  reply,  “All  right,  Bryant. 
Wait  until  I can  get  there,  for  all  hell  can’t  cut  her  out 
alone.”  They  were  talking  about  an  old  brindle  cow,  a 
typical  Texas  longhorn  with  the  bush  of  her  tail  cut  off, 
including  three  inches  of  the  bone.  She  was  coming  in  my 
direction  and  Mr.  Burris  called  to  me,  “Hold  her  up,  Louisi- 
ana, hold  her  up.”  I did  my  best  to  stop  her,  but  she  had 
her  head  set  and  turned  down  within  a foot  of  the  ground, 
determined  to  go  right  on.  One  of  the  boys  called  out, 
“Tail  her,  Louisiana,  tail  her,”  and  when  I caught  her  tail 
with  both  hands  my  horse  went  one  way  and  Old  Brindle 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


353 


and  I went  another.  The  boys  yelled  with  glee  and  shouted 
to  me  to  “stay  with  her.”  Indeed  I stayed,  until  Dock  got 
to  me  and  said  “turn  her  loose,”  at  the  same  time  getting 
in  between  me  and  that  maddened  old  brindle  cow.  On  our 
way  to  the  branding  pen  Mr.  Burris  and  I were  working  the 
tail  end  of  the  cows  and  calves.  He  had  a pretty  little  brown 
pony  in  the  herd  which  he  told  me  belonged  to  his  son 
Shannon,  and  said  he  did  not  permit  the  cowboys  to  ride  it 
for  fear  they  would  hurt  his  back,  but  as  I was  not  much 
larger  than  Shannon  he  would  let  me  use  the  pony.  He 
staked  the  pony  out  that  night  so  he  would  not  be  too  full 
of  grass  to  run  after  the  cattle  the  next  day.  When  we  had 
everything  arranged  the  next  morning  to  make  our  start 
Mr.  Burris  caught  the  pony  by  the  right  ear  and  told  Bryant 
to  lay  my  saddle  on  him  right  easy.  The  little  horse  squat- 
ted right  near  the  ground  as  the  saddle  girth  was  being  slowly 
drawn  tight,  and  when  I mounted  him,  Mr.  Burris  let  go  of 
his  ear  and  threw  his  hat  under  the  pony’s  belly.  Things  be- 
came interesting  about  this  time,  and  I turned  the  reins  loose 
for  1 had  to  use  both  hands  to  hold  to  the  horn  of  the  sad- 
dle. The  boys  yelled,  “Stay  with  him,  Louisiana,”  and  1 
stayed  until  the  reins  became  entangled  in  his  front  feet  and 
from  sheer  exhaustion  the  little  brown  pony  ceased  pitching. 

We  branded  about  two  hundred  calves  below  the  old  mis- 
sion at  Goliad.  It  was  my  first  experience  in  this  line  of 
work,  but  when  I saw  the  boys  grab  the  yearlings  by  the 
tail,  jerk  them  down,  run  their  tails  between  their  hind  legs 
and  yell,  “Come  on  with  the  branding  iron,”  I thought  it  was 
time  for  me  to  do  likewise,  so  I caught  one  of  the  yearlings 
by  the  tail  and  set  back,  when  lo,  she  sent  both  hind  feet 
into  my  stomach  and  I landed  on  my  back,  and  then  it  was 
“twinkle,  twinkle,  little  star- — what  in  hell  is  the  matter 
now?”  This  little  motley  faced  heifer  must  have  been  Old 
Brindle’s  calf. 

1 was  sent  to  W.  G.  Butler’s  Ranch  in  Karnes  county  and 
drove  big-jawed  and  crippled  beeves  from  there  to  Rockport, 
where  they  were  killed  for  their  hides  and  tallow,  and  the 
meat  fed  to  hogs. 


354 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


In  March,  1870,  we  started  a herd  of  beeves  to  Abilene, 
Kansas.  At  Fort  Worth,  then  a little  cross-roads  town,  we 
met  two  short-horn  cowboys  who  were  yelling  and  shooting, 
and  we  came  near  having  trouble  with  them,  because  they 
turned  our  cattle  back.  Mr.  Butler  and  I told  them  in  a very 
emphatic  manner  to  strike  a high  ball  to  town,  and  they 
struck  it,  and  the  last  we  saw  of  them  was  a streak  of  Fort 
Worth  dust.  We  had  a fine  time  that  year  as  everything  was 
in  good  condition  and  going  smooth.  In  those  days  I thought 
1 was  a “sticker”  with  a bunch  of  cattle  in  sunshine,  rain  or 
storm,  but  Pleas  Butler  could  work  all  of  the  Karnes  county 
starch  out  of  any  other  man  in  Texas.  No  man  ever  drove  a 
bunch  of  cattle  up  the  trail  any  better  than  Pleas  Butler. 


PUT  UP  MANY  HERDS  FOR  D.  R.  FANT. 

By  Thomas  M.  Hodges,  Junction,  Texas. 

My  father  moved  to  Goliad  county  in  1838,  and  located 
fifteen  miles  from  Goliad,  where  I was  born  August  30, 
1849.  I grew  to  manhood  here  and  worked  on  the  range 
until  1870,  when  I went  up  the  trail  with  a herd  belonging  to 
Barton  Peck.  On  this  trip  we  endured  hardships  of  all  de- 
scriptions, stampedes,  hailstorms,  thunder  and  lightning, 
trouble  with  Indians,  and  other  things  not  to  be  mentioned. 
However,  we  reached  Dodge  City,  Kansas,  in  good  shape, 
sold  the  herd,  and  came  back  overland,  bringing  our  horses 
and  wagons. 

I am  a brother-in-law  to  the  late  D.  R.  Fant,  and  for  many 
years  helped  to  put  up  and  start  many  herds  up  the  trail  for 
him,  but  I made  only  one  trip,  and  that  was  the  one  men- 
tioned above. 

My  father  moved  several  hundred  cattle  from  Old  Caney 
to  Goliad  in  1838  and  soon  had  the  largest  herd  in  that  sec- 
tion. He  had  a great  deal  of  trouble  with  the  Indians,  for 
they  came  down  into  our  settlement  almost  every  moon  for 
many  years.  They  did  not  bother  our  cattle,  only  killing  a 
beef  occasionally  to  eat,  but  they  stole  lots  of  horses  and 
killed  quite  a number  of  the  settlers. 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


355 


I met  George  W.  Saunders,  the  president  of  our  organiza- 
tion, in  1859,  when  his  father  settled  near  us  in  Goliad  coun- 
ty. We  went  to  school  together,  worked  cattle  together,  and 
the  ties  of  friendship  that  bind  us  have  endured  all  these 
years.  The  work  that  he  is  doing  to  perpetuate  the  record 
of  the  men  who  helped  to  make  Texas  the  great  state  that 
she  is  today  is  characteristic  of  the  “get  up  and  do  things” 
manner  of  my  good  old  friend. 

I am  now  living  at  Junction,  Kimble  county,  Texas,  where 
I am  engaged  in  the  hotel  business.  I have  been  a citizen 
of  this  county  for  many  years,  came  here  when  the  popula- 
tion of  the  county  was  much  less  than  it  is  now,  and  have  wit- 
nessed wonderful  development  since  1 have  been  here.  I 
have  raised  a large  family,  most  of  my  children  having  grown 
to  manhood  and  womanhood  right  here,  and  becoming  useful 
citizens. 


WHEN  GEORGE  SAUNDERS  MADE  A BLUFF  “STICK.” 

By  T.  T.  Hawkins,  of  Charlotte,  Texas. 

I was  born  in  Guadalupe  county,  near  Seguin,  April  7th, 
1859,  and  have  spent  practically  all  of  my  life  on  ranches. 
I first  went  up  the  trail  with  a herd  of  horses,  in  1879, 
from  Corpus  Christi  to  Cherryville,  Kansas.  This  was  one 
of  the  hardest  trips  I ever  made.  Our  chuck  wagon  consisted 
of  a Mexican  mule  about  fourteen  hands  high.  The  next 
trip  1 made  was  in  1879,  this  time  with  a herd  of  two-year- 
old  steers  owned  by  G.  W.  Littlefield,  driven  from  the  O’Con- 
nor ranch  near  Victoria  to  Yellow  House  Canyon.  This  was 
a very  pleasant  drive,  and  we  had  good  grass  and  plenty  of 
water  on  the  way. 

The  next  year  I went  with  a herd  of  1800  cattle  bossed 
by  Nat  Jackson,  going  from  Kyle,  Texas,  to  Ogallala,  Ne- 
braska, where  we  delivered  them  to  Col.  Seth  Maberry,  after 
which  we  drove  from  there  to  the  Red  Cloud  Agency  to  sup- 
ply a government  contract. 

The  fourth  trip  was  made  in  1881  when  I went  from  Tay- 
lor, Texas,  to  Caldwell,  Kansas,  with  a horse  herd  owned 
by  Kuykendall,  Sauls  & Burns,  with  John  Burns  as  boss. 


356 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


During  1882  and  1883  I worked  in  the  Panhandle  of 
Texas,  but  in  1884  1 went  on  the  trail  again  with  a horse 
herd  owned  by  H.  G.  Williams,  and  bossed  by  Bill  Williams. 
On  this  trip,  somewhere  in  the  vicinity  of  Abilene,  Texas,  we 
came  up  with  George  W.  Saunders’  outfit  as  they  were  going 
up  to  Kansas.  Here  we  had  a stampede,  our  horses  mixed 
together,  so  we  just  let  them  stay  together  and  drove  them 
from  there  to  Dodge  City. 

On  this  trip  several  things  took  place  that  should  be  men- 
tioned for  the  benefit  of  the  readers  of  this  book,  for  they 
give  a clear  idea  of  some  of  the  dangers  that  beset  the  men 
who  traveled  the  trail  in  those  old  days.  When  we  reached 
the  Comanche  reservation,  the  Indians  demanded  horses  and 
provisions  from  us.  As  George  Saunders  could  talk  Spanish 
fluently,  and  was  good  at  making  a bluff  stick,  our  outfit  and 
Carroll  Mayfield’s  outfit,  which  had  overtaken  us,  decided  to 
appoint  George  to  settle  with  the  Indians  as  best  he  could. 
Accordingly  he  accompanied  the  chiefs  and  some  of  the  bucks 
to  a tepee  and  held  a council  with  them.  The  old  chief 
could  speak  Spanish  and  when  he  learned  that  George  was 
familiar  with  his  old  raiding  range  he  became  quite  friendly 
and  told  him  that  he  knew  every  trail  on  the  Rio  Grande 
from  Laredo  to  El  Paso,  knew  all  of  the  streams  by  name, 
the  Nueces,  Llano  River,  Devil’s  River,  Guadalupe  River, 
Pecos  River,  the  Concho  and  Colorado  Rivers,  besides  many 
creeks.  He  became  very  talkative,  and  going  to  a rude  wil- 
low basket  he  had  in  his  wigwam  he  brought  forth  several 
burrs  which  he  said  he  had  taken  from  cypress  trees  on  the 
head  of  the  Guadalupe  River.  He  told  Mr.  Saunders  that 
he  had  killed  “heap  white  man”  on  his  raids,  but  that  he 
was  now  “heap  good  Indian,  no  kill  no  man.” 

Saunders  offered  to  make  settlement  by  giving  them  one 
horse  and  some  provisions,  and  the  Indians  seemed  well 
pleased  with  his  offer.  When  we  started  our  herd  about 
twenty  young  bucks  riding  on  beautiful  horses,  came  and 
helped  us  swim  the  cattle  across  the  Canadian  River.  A num- 
ber of  our  horses  bogged  in  the  quicksand  and  had  to  be  dug 
out,  which  sport  the  Indians  enjoyed  immensely.  They  fell 
right  in  with  our  boys  and  helped  in  every  way  they  could  to 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


357 


pull  the  horses  out,  and  when  this  work  was  finished  they 
gave  us  an  exhibition  of  their  riding.  Some  of  the  bucks 
would  run  by  our  crowd  and  invite  us  to  lasso  them. 

Saunders  finally  decided  to  rope  one  of  them,  a tall  young- 
fellow  who  was  mounted  on  a well  trained  horse,  so  getting 
his  lariat  ready  he  awaited  the  coming  of  the  Indian  and  as 
he  passed,  laying  flat  on  his  horse,  George  threw  the  rope 
and  it  encircled  both  horse  and  rider.  The  Indian’s  horse 
shied  around  a tree  and  the  Indian  and  his  horse  and  George 
and  his  horse  were  all  thrown  heavily  to  the  ground  when 
the  rope  tightened.  The  Indian  was  painfully  injured,  but 
when  we  ran  to  their  assistance  we  found  no  serious  damage 
had  resulted,  although  it  was  a narrow  escape  for  both  of 
the  performers.  The  rope  had  been  drawn  so  tight  around 
the  Indian  that  it  required  .some  time  for  him  to  get  his  lungs 
in  proper  action.  We  thought  the  Indians  would  be  of- 
fended by  the  accident,  but  they  laughed  and  guffawed  over 
it  in  great  fashion,  and  we  left  them  in  fine  spirits. 

As  we  proceeded  on  our  way  we  heard  the  Kiowas  were 
in  an  ugly  mood,  and  the  next  day  the  old  Chief,  Bacon  Rind, 
and  about  200  Kiowa  bucks  and  squaws  came  to  us  and  they, 
too,  demanded  horses  and  provisions.  We  sent  them  to 
Saunders,  of  course,  for  he  had  so  successfully  managed  the 
Comanches  the  day  before  we  trusted  him  to  handle  these 
Indians  the  same  way.  We  told  them  Saunders  was  “heap 
big  boss,”  and  to  talk  to  him.  Saunders  parleyed  with  them 
for  some  time,  finally  telling  them  to  come  back  the  next 
day..  They  left  grudgingly,  and  came  back  that  evening,  re- 
newing their  demands,  so  Saunders  had  all  of  the  wagons 
drawn  up  together,  and  offered  the  Indians  a small  amount 
of  flour,  some  sugar,  coffee,  bacon,  prunes,  beans  and  some 
canned  goods  out  of  each  wagon.  All  of  this  stuff  was  placed 
where  they  could  see  just  what  he  was  offering  to  give  them 
to  depart  in  peace,  and  he  also  told  them  two  horses  would 
be  given  in  addition  to  the  provisions.  Some  of  the  Indians 
seemed  satisfied  and  were  willing  to  accept  the  offer,  but 
others  wanted  more.  In  the  band  of  Indians  was  a pock- 
marked half-breed  who  had  been  the  most  insistent  that  more 
be  given  them,  and  he  finally  got  all  of  the  bunch  demanding 


358 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


more.  Saunders  finally  lost  patience  with  them  and  told 
the  cooks  to  put  all  of  the  stuff  back  in  the  wagons,  and  the 
men  to  straddle  their  horses  and  start  the  herds.  As  George 
mounted  his  horse  and  started  off,  the  pock-marked  half- 
breed  and  a dozen  bucks  made  a dash  at  him,  and  before  he 
realized  what  was  happening  they  had  grabbed  him  by  the  arms 
and  caught  his  horse  by  the  bridle.  He  had  drawn  his  pis- 
tol but  was  unable  to  use  it  because  of  the  vise-like  grip  that 
held  him.  At  the  same  time  forty  or  fifty  buffalo  guns  in 
the  hands  of  the  Indians  were  leveled  at  his  head,  and  for  an 
instant  things  looked  bad.  The  half-breed,  who  spoke  Eng- 
lish fluently,  was  cursing  and  abusing  Saunders,  and  telling 
him  they  were  going  to  kill  him  right  there.  The  squaws  had 
all  vanished,  nobody  knew  where.  Harry  Hotchkiss  and  sev- 
eral of  the  other  boys,  including  three  of  Saunders  Mexican 
hands,  ran  to  his  assistance,  and  their  bravery  no  doubt 
saved  his  life.  They  leveled  their  pistols  on  the  Indians, 
the  Mexicans  in  a rage  screaming,  “Dammy  you,  you  killee 
Meester  George,  me  killee  you.”  This  was  a critical  mo- 
ment for  George  Saunders,  but  he  kept  his  nerve,  for  he 
realized  that  if  there  was  one  shot  fired  he  would  be  a 
“goner.”  He  talked  to  the  Indians  in  every  language  except 
Chinese,  telling  them  they  were  making  a serious  mistake,  and 
that  he  would  send  to  Fort  Sill  and  get  the  soldiers  to  come 
and  protect  him.  This  talk  had  the  desired  effect,  and  they 
lowered  their  guns  and  departed  without  any  provisions,  al- 
though Saunders  gave  them  a stray  horse  in  our  herd  which  I 
think  belonged  to  the  Comanches.  The  Indians  were  in  an  ugly 
mood  when  they  left,  the  pock-marked  Indian  swearing  ven- 
geance and  saying,  as  he  rode  away,  “We  will  come  back  and 
take  all  we  want  from  you  when  the  sun  comes  up.” 

While  parleying  with  the  Indians  Saunders  offered  to  give 
them  orders  for  provisions  on  men  behind,  who  he  told  them 
were  rich  men  and  would  gladly  give  them  cattle,  horses  and 
money,  naming  Bell,  Butler,  John  Blocker,  Jim  Dobie,  Forest, 
Clark,  King,  Kennedy,  Coleman,  O’Connor  and  many  other 
prominent  trail  men  of  that  time.  But  the  Indians  said,  “All 
no  good.  Pryor  man  give  order  last  year,  no  good.”  Saun- 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


359 


ders  was  worried  and  told  us  we  had  given  him  a h — 1 of  a 
job,  but  he  was  going  to  play  it  strong. 

That  night  Saunders  put  on  only  two  reliefs,  some  of  them 
to  hold  the  herd  and  the  others  to  reconnoiter  and  give  the 
alarm  at  the  first  sign  of  Indians.  He  told  all  of  the  boys 
to  get  their  shooting  irons  in  good  shape,  for  there  was  like- 
ly to  be  trouble. 

The  Indians  did  not  molest  us  during  the  night,  and  early 
next  morning  Mr.  Saunders  told  us  they  would  probably  show 
up  in  a little  while  and  he  gave  us  instructions  as  to  what  to 
do.  He  told  us  to  congregate  behind  his  herd  when  the  In- 
dians appeared,  keep  in  line  and  not  mix  with  the  Indians, 
for  in  case  of  a fight  we  should  not  run  the  risk  of  shooting 
some  of  our  own  men.  We  were  to  keep  cool  while  he  was 
parleying  with  the  Indians,  and  if  he  saw  that  a fight  could 
not  be  avoided  he  would  give  a keen  cowboy  yell  as  a sig- 
nal, and  every  man  was  to  act. 

Just  after  sunrise  we  saw  the  Indians  coming  across  the 
plain,  in  single  file  and  in  full  war  garb,  headed  by  two  chiefs, 
Bacon  Rind  and  Sundown,  and  the  pock-marked  half-breed. 
The  Indians  came  right  up  to  us,  and  as  they  were  approach- 
ing Saunders  said,  “Remember,  boys,  we  must  win  the 
fight.  If  I give  the  signal  each  of  you  must  kill  an  Indian,  so 
don’t  make  a miss.”  They  looked  hideous  in  the  war  garb, 
and  as  they  rushed  up  one  of  the  chiefs  said,  “How  Big  Chief 
Bad  Man,  no  give  poor  Indian  horse  or  grub.  Indian  take 
um.”  Saunders  told  them  they  would  get  nothing.  They 
began  to  point  out  horses  in  the  herd  which  they  said  they 
were  going  to  take,  and  George  informed  them  that  he 
would  shoot  the  first  Indian  that  rode  into  the  herd.  The 
pock-marked  Indian  held  a short  whispered  conversation  with 
the  two  chiefs  and  started  towards  Saunders,  seeing  which, 
the  boys,  who  were  already  on  their  mettle  and  tired  of 
waiting  for  the  signal,  began  pulling  their  guns,  and  the  In- 
dians weakened.  They  instantly  saw  that  we  were  determined 
to  give  them  a fight,  and  withdrew.  Saunders  had  to  do 
some  lively  talking  then  to  hold  our  crowd  back.  There 
were  about  thirty-five  men  in  our  bunch,  including  the  cooks 
and  wranglers,  and  the  Indians  numbered  about  two  hun- 


360 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


dred  warriors.  As  they  left,  the  pock-marked  half-breed 
showed  the  white  feather,  and  Saunders  called  him  all  the 
coward  names  in  the  Indian,  Spanish  and  English  language 
that  he  knew,  but  the  rascal  knew  he  had  lost  and  his  bluff 
was  called.  In  resentment  the  Indians  went  to  Neal  Mane- 
well’s  herd,  which  was  nearby,  and  shot  down  ten  beeves. 
Saunders  and  several  of  our  boys  went  over  to  the  herd  and 
offered  assistance  to  the  boss,  Mr.  Cato,  but  he  said  they 
were  too  late  to  save  the  beeves,  and  it  was  best  to  let  the 
Indians  alone,  as  we  could  all  drive  out  of  their  reservation 
that  day.  We  pointed  our  herd  up  the  trail  and  had  no 
further  trouble  with  them. 

That  pock-marked  Indian  was  known  to  most  of  the  old 
trail  drivers.  He  was  an  outlaw  and  thief,  and  was  regarded  as 
a desperate  character  all  around.  I learned  that  he  was  killed 
by  a cowboy  in  1886.  George  Saunders  had  lots  of  expe- 
rience in  dealing  with  Indians  during  those  days,  and  he  often 
told  me  that  when  he  made  a bold  bluff,  if  it  did  not 
stick  he  was  always  ready  to  back  it  up  with  firearms  or 
fast  talking. 

In  1885  and  1886  I carried  herds  for  H.  G.  Williams  from 
Kyle,  Texas,  to  Arkansas  City,  and  made  my  last  drive  in 
1886  when  I delivered  a herd  to  Miles  Williams  at  Abilene, 
Texas.  I have  been  in  the  cow  business  ever  since,  the 
greater  part  of  the  time  associated  with  H.  G.  Williams. 

How  dear  to  my  heart  are  the  scenes  of  my  trailhood, 
When  fond  recollection  presents  them  to  view — 

The  water-barrell,  the  old  chuck  wagon, 

And  the  cook  who  called  me  to  chew. 


THE  MILK  OF  HUMAN  KINDNESS  IS  DRYING  UP. 

By  George  F.  Hindes,  Pearsall,  Texas. 

I was  born  in  Alabama  in  September,  1844.  My  first  ex- 
perience as  trail  driver  was  in  the  fall  of  1856,  at  the  age 
of  twelve  years.  1 was  put  in  charge  of  a small  herd  of 
breeding  cattle  in  Caldwell  county,  Texas,  by  my  father  and 
we  started  west.  We  drove  through  San  Antonio,  down  Main 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


361 


street  and  out  South  Flores  street..  When  the  Civil  War 
broke  out  in  1861,  we  had  quite  a nice  little  herd  of  gentle 
breeding  cattle,  as  well  as  a good  bunch  of  horse  stock  that 
I had  caught  from  the  mustangs  or  wild  horses  that  were 
plentiful  on  the  range  on  the  Frio  and  Nueces  Rivers  at  that 
time;  but  when  the  war  closed,  or  broke  up,  and  I got  out 
of  the  army  in  the  spring  of  1865,  our  stock  of  cattle  and 
horses  were  all  stolen  or  scattered  to  the  four  winds,  so  we 
were  all  “broke”  again.  In  the  meantime  I had  met  the 
finest  little  girl  in  the  world,  and  felt  that  the  game  of  life 
would  not  be  worth  the  candle  without  her,  and  when  I men- 
tioned the  subject  to  her,  to  my  surprise  she  told  me  that 
there  would  be  no  trouble  about  it  as  I was  in  good  standing 
with  her  papa,  but  when  I told  her  I was  “broke,”  she  merely 
laughed  and  said,  “everybody  was  broke,”  and  that  she  would 
help  me,  so  we  married  and  she  is  still  helping  me  to  this 
good  hour — over  a period  of  fifty-five  years.  After  we  were 
married  in  the  spring  of  1865,  the  Indians  killed  my  father 
at  his  home  on  the  Frio  in  McMullen  county,  in  August  1865, 
so  my  mother,  four  sisters  and  one  little  brother  were  left  for 
us  to  care  for.  During  the  reconstruction  times  we  had  all 
kinds  of  trouble  on  the  border  with  the  Indians,  Mexicans, 
thieves  and  outlaws,  too  bad  to  write  about,  and  would  not 
be  believed  anyway  (ask  my  friend  Ed.  English  if  it  was  a 
Sunday  school  picnic),  so  better  be  it  forgotten.  By  hard 
work  and  close  economy,  I had  got  together  fifteen  hundred 
head  of  good  mixed  cattle  by  the  spring  of  1872,  and  start- 
ed up  the  trail  in  March  for  my  first  trip. 

I was  herd-boss,  had  a yoke  of  oxen,  mess  cart,  one  negro 
and  eight  Mexicans  with  me  on  that  trip,  but  of  the  crowd 
only  myself  and  the  negro,  Jack  Hopkins,  are  now  living  to 
tell  the  tale.  As  a boy,  1 had  always  wanted  a good  mount, 
was  ambitious  to  ride  good  horses  and  have  the  best  rifle, 
and  as  a married  man  I was  anxious  to  have  $10,000  in 
money  in  the  clear.  When  I returned  home  in  the  fall,  I 
had  $15,000  in  cash  and  $10,000  life  insurance  in  favor  of 
my  wife  and  babies,  and  felt  that  I was  “some”  financier,  as 
that  was  the  first  real  money  1 had  ever  had,  and  it  was  all 
our  own.  I started  my  herd  from  the  San  Miguel  in  Atascosa 


362 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


county,  and  as  I traveled  the  well  defined  trail  nothing  of 
interest  happened  until  I got  to  Red  River  Station  on  the 
Red  River.  There  1 found  the  river  big  swimming,  and  as 
another  herd  was  close  behind  me  I could  not  turn  back,  so 
I asked  my  men  if  they  would  follow  the  herd  across,  and 
they  said  they  would,  so  I spurred  “old  Dun”  into  the  river 
and  swam  across  with  my  lead  cattle  following  close  behind 
and  all  landed  in  safety,  but  1 did  not  want  any  more  of  it, 
as  the  river  was  wide,  muddy  and  swift.  I had  carried  three 
herds  across  the  Rio  Grande  before  that  successfully,  but  this 
was  the  worst  ever.  We  moved  along  slowly  through  the 
territory  trying  to  fatten  our  stock  on  the  fine  range,  but  we 
had  so  many  thunder  storms,  hard  rains  and  stampedes  we 
did  not  make  much  progress.  Ask  Bob  Ragsdale  about  it. 
When  we  got  within  eighty  or  one  hundred  miles  of  Cald- 
well on  the  Kansas  line,  we  butted  into  the  Osage  tribe,  who 
demanded  a good  beef  out  of  each  and  every  herd  passing 
their  camp.  About  fifty  of  their  ugliest  bucks  came  to  my 
camp  where  we  were  making  dinner  and  took  time  to  eat  up 
everything  the  cook  had  and  then  made  their  wants  known, 
and  I said  certainly  I had  one  for  them  and  asked  their  chief 
spokesman  to  please  pick  it  out,  as  I was  in  a hurry,  and  at 
the  same  time  told  my  men  to  “hookup”  and  move  out,  and 
they  were  ready  to  go.  So  the  chief  picked  out  a high 
grade  steer,  very  fat  about  a fifteen  hundred  pounder  and 
was  about  to  shoot  him,  when  1 tried  to  explain  that  he  was 
a favorite  of  mine,  but  it  was  no  use,  as  they  thought  that 
that  would  make  no  difference.  I think  a dozen  of  them 
shot  him  at  once  and  killed  him  before  I could  say  “scat.” 
In  less  than  ten  minutes  they  had  him  skinned,  cut  up  and 
packed  on  ponies  and  were  gone  to  their  camp.  My  friend, 
Mr.  John  Redus,  with  whom  1 had  been  traveling  and  who 
was  camped  close  by,  seeing  what  they  were  doing  to  me, 
had  thrown  his  herd  on  the  trail  and  was  pushing  them  along 
pretty  lively,  when  my  men  got  my  herd  straightened  out  on 
the  trail  four  or  five  hundred  yards  behind  Redus’  herd.  By 
that  time  the  Indians  were  coming  like  black  birds.  I think 
they  were  one  hundred  strong,  all  well  mounted  and  well 
armed  with  guns,  pistols,  bows  and  arrows.  They  were  ex- 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


363 


SAM  GARNER 


364 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


ceptionally  friendly  with  me,  and  uncomfortably  sociable, 
showing  a great  deal  of  the  bull  dog  familiarity  which  I 
could  not  enjoy.  They  did  not  ask  me  for  anything  more, 
only  invited  me  to  their  camp  and  told  me  all  about  their 
many  squaws  and  babies,  but  I took  their  word  for  that. 
When  they  called  on  friend  Redus  for  a beef,  they  disagreed 
with  him  when  he  offered  them  a crippled  steer,  but  a good 
one  in  fair  flesh,  so  they  all  bunched  up  between  our  herd 
for  a council  of  war  and  in  a few  minutes  1 saw  them  load 
their  guns,  string  their  bows  and  a hundred  of  them  ran 
full  drive  into  his  herd,  shooting  and  yelling  the  regular 
war-whoop,  scattering  his  herd  of  about  one  thousand  good 
beeves  to  the  winds,  killing  a hundred  or  more  right  there 
on  the  prairie  in  sight.  When  the  smoke  and  dust  cleared 
away  all  he  had  left  was  his  men  and  horses,  and  about  two 
hundred  and  fifty  head  of  beeves  that  ran  into  my  herd, 
where  the  Indians  did  not  follow  them.  Mr.  Redus  brought 
suit  against  the  government  for  the  beeves;  lost  it,  and  I was 
a witness  for  him  for  some  twenty  years.  We  hurried  up 
from  there  until  we  got  into  Kansas  and  on  to  Wichita  on 
the  Arkansas  River.  1 think  Redus’  claim  was  finally  paid, 
but  not  in  full. 

I handled  cattle  up  the  trail  several  years  after  that  and 
delivered  twenty-five  hundred  head  to  Messrs.  Hackney  and 
Dowling  up  at  Chugwater  above  Cheyenne,  Wyoming.  Al- 
ways made  a little  money,  but  never  bossed  another  herd 
through  from  start  to  finish  after  1872.  I know  the  game, 
and  I know  if  a man  made  good  at  it  he  had  two  or  three 
months  of  strenuous  life. 

The  Texas  pioneers  and  old  trail  drivers  are  fast  passing 
away,  and  will  soon  be  only  a memory,  but  that  memory  is 
dear  to  my  heart,  and  when  they  are  gone  the  world  will 
never  know  another  bunch  like  them,  for  the  milk  of  hu- 
man kindness  is  drying  up,  and  the  latch  string  is  being- 
pulled  inside. 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


365 


TOOK  TIME  TO  VISIT  HIS  SWEETHEART. 

By  H.  C.  Williams,  San  Antonio,  Texas. 

I was  born  on  a stock  ranch  in  Refugio  county  in  1856, 
and  spent  most  of  my  life  working  with  cattle.  In  those  early 
days  people  lived  on  cornbread,  beef,  milk,  butter  and  cof- 
fee, about  the  only  store-bought  articles  being  coffee  and 
sugar,  and  not  much  of  that.  I helped  to  gather  and  drive 
cattle  to  Rockport  for  W.  S.  Hall  in  1869,  and  for  several 
years  thereafter.  In  1872  I drove  a herd  to  that  place  for 
George  W.  Saunders,  who  is  now  the  president  of  our  Trail 
Drivers’  Association.  George  was  a good  boss  and  a hard 
worker.  He  was  also  a lover  of  fine  clothes  and  pretty 
girls,  and  one  day  while  we  were  near  Williams  Reeves’  ranch 
four  miles  above  Refugio,  George  had  us  to  stop  the  herd 
and  make  camp  so  he  could  call  on  his  sweetheart,  Miss 
Rachel  Reeves.  We  had  plenty  of  time  to  reach  a good  stock 
pen  six  miles  further  on,  but  he  was  so  anxious  to  see  his 
girl  that  he  held  us  there.  George  later  married  Miss  Reeves 
in  1884.  I have  known  Mr.  Saunders  all  of  my  life  and 
know  he  will  “stand  hitched”  any  place  on  earth.  He  never 
forgets  a friend. 

I worked  stock  in  all  the  coast  counties,  and  knew  all  of 
the  old  timers  in  that  region.  In  1880  I went  to  Kansas  and 
drove  a drag  herd  with  pack  horses  from  Caldwell  county, 
Texas. 

In  1874  I built  seven  miles  of  barbed  wire  fence  for  W. 
E.  and  Tom  McCampbell  of  Rockport,  it  being  the  first 
barbed  wire  fence  in  San  Patricio  county. 

I am  now  living  in  Bexar  county  on  a farm  and  ranch 
and  can  ride  all  day  and  do  any  kind  of  farm  or  ranch  work. 
My  father  was  a well  known  stockman  in  the  early  days  and 
was  known  as  “Uncle  Boiling”  Williams. 


REMINISCENCES  OF  THE  TRAIL 

By  Jasper  (Bob)  Lauderdale. 

I was  born  near  Belton,  Bell  county,  Texas,  August  17, 
1854.  My  parents  moved  to  Belton  in  1849  from  Neosho 
county,  Missouri,  coming  in  by  ox  wagon,  then  moved  to 


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THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


Gonzales  where,  after  remaining  a short  time,  they  returned 
to  Belton  and  maintained  the  stage  stand  until  1 8 5 1 , when 
all  earthly  possessions  were  wiped  out  by  a flood.  My  par- 
ents both  died  when  I was  young  and  I was  raised  by  Uncle 
Alex  Hodge  until  I came  to  Atascosa  county  in  1873.  Dur- 
ing my  early  boyhood  in  Bell  county  I rode  the  range  and 
helped  with  herding  and  branding  cattle,  enjoying  the  expe- 
riences of  the  then  early  conditions  existing  in  Texas,  one 
of  which  caused  so  much  amusement  that  I am  going  to 
recite  it  here. 

One  day  a Mr.  Isabell  came  traveling  through  the  coun- 
try trading  eight  day  clocks  for  cattle,  giving  one  clock  for 
four  cows  and  calves,  and  as  no  one  had  a clock  it  did  not 
take  Isabell  long  to  gather  a herd.  One  of  the  settlers,  with 
whom  he  traded,  took  his  clock  home  and  after  winding  it 
set  it  on  the  mantle  and  when  the  family  gathered  round 
after  supper,  the  clock  struck  eight.  It  scared  the  family 
so  that  they  scattered,  thinking  it  was  something  suppernat- 
ural,  and  it  took  the  old  man  until  nearly  midnight  to  get 
them  together  and  in  the  house.  I helped  Isabell  drive 
his  cattle  as  far  as  Comanche  Springs  on  his  way  to  Fort 
Worth  and  returned  to  the  range,  remaining  until  1872,  when 
with  Isaiah  Mock,  Hoffman  and  Moore  we  drove  a herd  of 
cattle  to  Alexandria,  La.,  with  W.  C.  Wright,  who  loaded 
them  on  boats  for  New  Orleans,  then  we  returned  home.  Dur- 
ing the  fall  we  branded  “Mavericks”  and  put  up  trail  herds 
and  in  the  spring  of  1873  Olley  Treadwell  came  through  with 
a herd  for  Kansas  belonging  to  Sim  Holstein  of  Gonzales. 
Bob  Allen  and  I hired  to  Treadwell  and  went  to  Wichita,  Kan- 
sas, this  being  my  first  trip  over  the  Chisholm  trail,  with 
nothing  unusual  or  exciting  except  we  saw  some  buffalo. 

At  Wichita  during  the  summer,  Bud  Chapman,  Bud  Hilder- 
brandt,  Bill  Bennett  and  I helped  “Shanghai”  Pierce  cut  and 
load  a train  of  steers  for  the  market  at  St.  Louis.  This  was 
the  first  bunch  of  cattle  I ever  saw  loaded  on  cars. 

In  the  fall  of  1873  I went  to  work  on  the  range  for  Bill 
Fountain  and  we  gathered  and  drove  200  head  to  W.  B.  G. 
Grimes’  slaughter  house  on  the  coast,  near  Powder  Horn 
where  they  were  slaughtered  for  their  hides  and  tallow.  On 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


367 


our  return  we  gathered  a herd  of  25o  cattle  and  drove  them 
to  Harrisburg,  then  five  miles  from  Houston  and  on  this 
trip  1 led  the  pack  horse  and  cooked  for  the  outfit.  I then 
went  with  Bud  Chapman  to  Fort  Ewell  where  we  gathered 
cattle  and  brought  them  back  to  his  ranch  and  in  the  spring 
of  1874  started  3000  head  up  the  trail,  going  as  far  as  the 
Salado  with  them.  Upon  returning  I worked  for  “Billy” 
Childress,  John  Slaughter  and  Mrs.  O’Brien.  In  the  spring 
of  1875  three  Mexicans  and  I were  herding  400  head  of  cat- 
tle near  Carrizo  Springs,  Texas,  when  Lem  English  and  Len 
Hay,  two  boys,  who  were  playing  close  by  discovered  a bunch 
of  Indians.  The  children  ran  to  the  house  and  gave  the 
alarm  and  Ed  English  came  out  and  helped  us  put  the  cattle 
in  his  pen  and  we  stood  guard  all  night,  although  the  In- 
dians did  not  attack  us  as  they  had  previously  had  a taste  of 
old  English’s  rifle.  On  their  way  out  the  Indians  killed  one 
of  Ed’s  sheep  herders. 

In  the  spring  of  1876,  Dick  Horn,  Jack  McCurley  and  I, 
with  some  Mexican  hands,  gathered  and  delivered  by  Billy 
Childress  and  John  Slaughter,  to  Bill  Dougherty  two  herds  of 
about  5000  head  at  Indian  Bend  Ranch.  In  the  fall  of  1876 
I went  to  Runnels  county  and  took  charge  of  a herd  for  J. 
W.  Murphy  and  George  Hindes  and  wintered  on  Elm  Creek, 
above  where  the  city  of  Ballinger  now  stands,  and  the  follow- 
ing spring  drove  them  to  Dodge  City,  Kansas. 

On  the  trip  I saw  old  Sitting  Bull  and  about  1200  of  his 
bucks  and  squaws  in  charge  of  Government  troops;  these 
were  the  Cheyenne  and  Sioux  Indians  who  had  massacred 
General  Custer  and  his  men  and  were  being  taken 
to  Fort  Reno.  There  were  about  2000  horses  taken  with 
the  Indians.  The  troops  had  100  pack  mules  so  well  trained 
that  you  could  not  make  them  break  line;  they  moved  in 
single  file  and  were  taught  this  to  enable  them  to  travel 
through  the  mountains.  The  Indians  were  traveling  in  their 
usual  way,  poles  tied  to  the  necks  of  ponies  like  shafts  in  a 
buggy,  but  much  longer  and  in  willow  baskets  lashed  to  these 
poles  the  old  bucks  and  squaws  rode  who  were  too  old  to 
ride  horseback — their  tepees  and  supplies  were  also  carried 
in  this  manner.  Squaws  with  their  papooses  strapped  to 


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THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


their  backs  rode  bareback,  and  in  passing  through  their  camp 
I saw  one  old  buck  dressed  in  moccasins,  breech  clout,  a frock 
tail  coat  and  an  old-fashioned  preacher’s  hat. 

Upon  my  return  from  Kansas  in  1877  I went  to  a point 
near  Oakville  and  received  a herd  of  cattle  for  Lewis  & 
Bluntzer  and  drove  them  to  Saddle  Creek,  near  the  mouth  of 
the  Concho,  where  it  empties  into  the  Colorado,  at  a point 
near  where  Paint  Rock  now  stands.  Shortly  after  I left, 
the  horse  wrangler.  Lebora  Chappa,  who  had  remained  with 
Joe  Reame,  was  killed  near  Salt  Gap  by  the  Indians. 

In  November,  1877,  George  Hindes,  Volley  Oden  and  I 
took  an  outfit  to  Laredo  and  bought  and  received  a herd  of 
cattle  on  the  Gonzales  and  Ambrosia  Rodriguez  ranches  and 
returned  to  the  La  Parita  Ranch  in  Atascosa  county  on  Christ- 
mas day  1877,  then  road-branded  and  in  the  spring  of  1878 
started  up  the  trail.  On  the  trail  with  me  was  Joe  Collins 
with  his  herd  and  a herd  of  Bill  Dewees  in  charge  of  Joe 
Eggle  and  when  crossing  the  North  Fork  of  Red  River,  at  the 
foot  of  the  Wichita  mountains,  Joe  Collins’  cook  was  killed 
by  a Mexican,  whom  we  were  unable  to  capture.  We  rolled 
the  cook  in  his  blanket  and  dug  his  grave  with  an  axe,  and 
a broken  handled  spade,  the  only  implements  at  hand.  On 
the  Mobeetie  road  crossing  at  the  North  Fork  of  the  Red 
River  near  Fort  Sill  the  Indians,  Cheyennes  and  Sioux,  were 
holding  a medicine  dance  and  afterward  went  on  the  war 
path;  they  killed  Tuttle  & Chapman’s  cook,  took  35  head 
of  horses  on  Crooked  Creek  near  where  1 had  camped,,  shot 
Foreman  Rainey’s  horse. and  headed  for  the  Bad  Lands  of  the 
Dakotas. 

We  reached  the  H.  & D.  ranch  on  September  7th,  1878, 
and  remained  there  until  the  cattle  were  ranch  branded  and 
returned  to  Cheyenne  and  then  to  Denver  by  train. 

In  the  spring  of  1879  I started  for  Dodge  City  with  a herd 
for  John  Camp  and  a little  above  San  Antonio  our  oxen  gave 
out,  requiring  us  to  use  Mexican  “stags”  with  Mexican  yokes 
to  Dodge  City.  In  the  Fall  and  Winter  of  1879,  C.  F.  Car- 
roll  and  I made  several  trips  down  the  Rio  Grande  below  La- 
redo and  bought  cattle  from  the  Tortilla  Ranch  in  Mexico  and 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


369 


from  Pedro  Flores,  Juan  Benavidas,  Jesus  Pena  and  others 
for  Camp,  Rosser  and  Carroll. 

In  the  spring  of  1880,  Carroll  and  I started  to  Kansas  and 
at  Bandera  we  threw  our  herds  together  because  several  of 
Carroll’s  hands  quit  him  and  1 drove  the  combined  herds  to 
Ogallala  and  delivered  them  to  Charles  and  Joe  Shiner,  who 
then  sold  1000  head  of  two  year  olds,  steers  and  heifers,  to 
Billy  Campbell  and  I drove  this  lot  to  Pine  Bluff,  Wyo.,  turn- 
ing them  over  to  Campbell’s  men.  In  the  spring  of  1 88 1,  I 
took  a herd  of  three  and  four  year  olds  for  Mitchell  & Press- 
nail  to  Ogallala  and  turned  the  big  steers  over  to  Seth  Ma- 
berry  and  then  shaped  up  another  herd  of  2500  one  and  two 
year  old  steers  and  1000  one  and  two  year  old  heifers  out 
of  the  Mitchell,  Pressnall  and  Ellison  herds  and  went  to 
Crazy  Woman  Fork  of  Powder  River  at  the  foot  of  Big  Horn 
Mountains  and  delivered  them  to  Stoddard,  Latman  & How- 
ard. 

Returning  in  1881,  I worked  my  own  cattle  until  1884 
and  that  year  shipped  to  Dryden  on  the  Southern  Pacific. 
In  1885  I traded  with  John  Camp  and  the  Pecos  Land  & 
Cattle  Co.,  and  “hit”  the  trail  again. 

John  Doak,  Dan  Franks  and  I gathered  a herd  and  sold 
out  to  Zook  & Odem  and  I went  to  Independence  Ranch  in 
Pecos  county  and  turned  them  over  to  Bill  Alley.  Returning 
home  in  1886  with  Jess  Presnail,  I went  to  Fort  Stockton  and 
gathered  a herd,  drove  up  the  Pecos  to  Fort  Sumner  and  re- 
mained six  weeks  cutting  out  steers,  then  drove  to  Las  Ve- 
gas and  loaded  them  for  Cheyenne,  Wyo.,  and  upon  my  re- 
turn to  Fort  Sumner  I took  the  balance  of  the  herd,  1000  one 
and  two  year  old  heifers,  to  Grant,  New  Mexico,  and  de- 
livered to  a Kansas  City  outfit.  On  this  trip  with  me  were 
Clem  Crump,  Sharp,,  Bob  Gould,  Henry  Ritterman,  Theo 
Leonard,  Rainey,  Jack  Brown  and  Jim  Matthews.  Leaving 
Fort  Sumner  with  the  herd  for  Grant  we  traveled  up  Yoss 
Creek  (Isinglass)  Seven  Lakes,  Pena  Wells,  Pinta  de  Agua 
Lake,  and  Canyon  de  Agua,  struck  the  Rio  Grande  at  La 
Jolla,  crossed  the  river,  and  came  out  by  the  Rancho  Rita 
Coloral,  struck  the  Indian  Reservation  at  Querrian  and  up  the 
St.  Jose  River  and  delivered  the  cattle,  returning  to  Albu- 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


3 70 

querque.  Pressnall,  Matthews  and  I went  to  El  Paso  and 
San  Antonio. 

In  1887  I went  to  Fort  Stockton  and  spent  the  year  brand- 
ing and  tallying  cattle  for  the  Union  Beef  Company,  returned 
to  Pleasanton  and  in  the  spring  of  1888  went  back  and  fin- 
ished receiving  between  14,000  and  1 5,000  head  for  this 
company,  and  7,000  calves  were  branded  during  this  period 
that  were  included  without  cost. 

In  1889  I drove  a herd  from  the  McDaniel  pasture  at  Lytle 
for  Jesse  Pressnall  and  John  Lytle  to  Trail  City,  Colorado, 
and  delivered  them  to  John  Blocker,  who  drove  them  North. 
This  was  my  last  trip  over  the  old  “cattle  trail.” 

On  the  trail  from  San  Antonio  our  watering  places  were 
at  Leon  Springs,  Cibolo,  at  Boerne,  the  Guadalupe  at  Com- 
fort, Goat  Creek,  Devil’s  River,  James  River,  Llano,  San 
Saba,  Calf  Creek,  Brady,  Cow  Creek,  Elm,  Colorado,  Bull 
Creek,  Holmes  Creek,  Red  Bank,  Hord’s  Creek  at  Coleman 
City,  Jim  Ned,  Pecan  Bayou,  Burnt  Creek,  Deep  Creek  at 
Callahan  City,  Mexia,  South  Hubbard,  North  Hubbard  at  Al- 
bany, Clear  Fork  at  Brazos  at  Fort  Griffin,  Elm  Creek  near 
Throckmorton,  Millett  Creek  and  Brazos  at  Millet  Ranch,  Pony 
Creek,  Wichita,  Beaver,  Paradise,  Pease  River  and  crossed 
Red  River  at  Doan’s  Store,  which,  in  1877,  consisted  of 
three  buffalo  hides  and  a wagon  sheet,  then  up  the  North 
Fork  of  Red  River,  crossed  Croton  Creek,  crossed  the  North 
Fork  at  Wichita  Mountains,  up  the  North  Fork  of  Red  to 
Old  Indian  Camp,  Elk  Creek,  Cash  Creek  at  its  head,  Wash- 
ita, Canadian,  Sand  Creek,  Wolf  Creek,  Otter,  Beaver,  Buf- 
falo, Wild  Horse  and  the  Cimarron  where  “Red”  Clark  con- 
ducted a road  house  called  the  “Long  Horn  Round  Up”  and 
on  the  opposite  side  was  old  Julia’s  “Dead  Fall”;  thence  up 
Bear  Creek  to  near  its  head  and  crossed  Bluff  Creek  at  Mai- 
ley’s  road  house,  Mulberry  Creek  within  sight  of  Dodge  City. 
From  Dodge  City  to  Ogallala  we  watered  at  Duck  Creek, 
Saw  Log,  Buckner’s,  Pony  Creek,  Pawnee,  Smokey,  Saline  at 
Buffalo,  Kansas,  the  South  and  North  Solomon,  South  and 
North  Sappy,  Beaver,  Driftwood,  Republican,  Frenchman, 
Stinking  Water,  to  Ogallala  on  the  South  Platte,  up  the 
South  Platte  to  Chug  Water  by  Big  Springs,  Julesburg  up 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


371 


Pole  Creek  to  Syndey,  Pine  Bluff,  Horse  Creek  and  to  Chug 
Water. 

Among  those  who  traveled  with  me  on  the  trail  and  whom 
I met  in  Kansas  were:  Eli  Baggett,  Eli  Williams,  John  Mer- 
ritt, Tom  Christian  and  Doc  Day,  Littlefield  and  Dilworth, 
Tom  Mayhorn,  Geo.  Hodges,  Jess  McCoy,  Joe  Murray,  Dunn 
and  Bob  Houston,  Ab  Denmark,  Matt  Patten,  Sam  Tate,  Bill 
Colley,  Dick  Dismuke,  Jim  Tally,,  Gordon  McGriffin,  Uncle 
Jim  Ellison,  Alonzo  Millett,  Captain  Millett,  Hy.  Millett,  Bill 
Jackman,  Mark  Withers,  Alex  Magee,  Dick  Withers,  Monroe 
Hardeman,  Bob  Jennings,  John,  Bill  and  Ab  Blocker,  Jenks 
Blocker,  Henry  Maley,  Geo.  Saunders,  Dick  Crew,  John  Lit- 
tle, Geo.  Hill,  Joe  Crouch,  Ben  Gilman,  Charles,  Henry,  Mike 
and  Joe  Shiner,  Geo.  Burrows,  Dick  Edwards,  Rufe  Walker, 
John  Doak,  Jim  Currey,  Will  Peacock,  Waddy  Peacock,  Jim 
Matthews,  Bob  Savage,  Doc  Rabb,  Bud  Chapman,  Solomon 
Tuttle,  Bud  and  Tobe  Driskill,  Dal,  Cell,  Till  and  Jess  Dris- 
kill,  Hy.  Patterson,  Kingsbury  and  Holmesly,  John  Good,  Mont 
Woodward,  Lou  O’Shea,  Steve  Birchfield,  Bill  Birchfield,  Geo. 
Arnett,  Gus  Black,  Billy  Henson,  Ace  Cutcherfield,  Bill  Lytle, 
Finis  Bates,  Jeff  Woodley,  Joe  Glenn,  Jim  and  Charley 
Boyce,  Noah  Ellis,  Mack  Stewart,  Walter  Polley,  Jim  Dobie, 
Dillard  Fant,  Sam  Glenn,  Wallace  Fant,  Levi  Anderson,  A1 
and  Dave  Hughes,  Henry  Griffin,  Jerry  Ellis,  “Black  Bill” 
Montgomery,  Doc  Burnett,  John  Gamel,  Billy  Childress, 
John  Slaughter,  Joe  Matthews,  Meyer  Halff,  Bill  Butler,  Lott 
and  Virgil  Johnson,  Everett  and  Willie  Johnson,  Tom  New- 
ton, Bill  Waugh,  Mose  Stephenson,  Henry  Yegge,  Henry 
Earnest,  Ike,  Sol  and  George  West,  Allen  Harris,  Jesse  Ev- 
ans, John  and  Jim  Kenedy,  Ira  Word,  John  Morrow,  John 
Frazier,  Sam  Wilson,  Ben  and  Bill  Choate,  Nat  Word,  Geo. 
Reno,  Sebe  Jones,  John  Dolan,  Bill  Murchison,  Jim 
Rowden,  Bill  Perryman,  Jim  Reed,  Tom  Merrill,  Uncle  Henry 
Stephens,  Jake  DePoyster,  Cal  Mayfield,  Col.  Risinger,  Jack 
Morris,  Willie  O’Brien,  Bill  and  Campbell  Fountain,  Ike  Hill, 
“Als”  Franks,  Coleman  (Uncle  Coley)  Lyons,  Bob  Rags- 
dale, C.  H.  Tardy,  Nat  Haynes,  Bob  Turner,  “Eb”  Stewart, 
Wash  Mitchell,  Jim  Townsend,  Bob  Miller,  Clint  Lewis,  Perry 
Thompson,  “Uncle”  Ed  Lyons,  Joe  Cotulla,  Sam  Camp,  W. 


372 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


S.  (Bill)  Hall,  Less  Harris,  Bill  Irvin,  Lee  Trimble,  Ben  Bor- 
roum. 

In  1908  I drove  the  last  big-  herd  to  San  Antonio,  1300 
head  for  D.  & A.  Oppenheimer,  and  delivered  them  to  Tom 
Coleman  at  his  feed  pens.  Dan  kicked  about  driving  so 
many  in  one  herd  and  only  a few  years  before  he  would  not 
think  of  starting  on  a drive  with  only  1300  cattle. 


FROM  TEXAS  TO  THE  OREGON  LINE. 

By  W.  A.  Peril,  Harper,  Texas 

I was  born  in  Benton  county,  Mo.,  in  1845,  and  moved  to 
Burnet  county,  Texas,  with  my  parents  in  1858,  where  we 
resided  until  1 86 1 , when  we  moved  to  Gillespie  county, 
with  a small  bunch  of  cattle  which  my  father  had  bought 
in  Milam  county. 

In  1862  I went  with  a party  and  bought  a herd  of  cattle 
from  the  Toutout  Beauregard  Ranch,  forty  miles  below  San 
Antonio,  which  we  drove  to  Gillespie  county,  camping  at 
Powder  House  Hill  on  our  way  up. 

In  1864  I went  down  into  Mexico  with  a herd,  going  by 
way  of  Fort  McKavett,  passing  near  the  head  of  the  South 
Concho  River,  by  way  of  Horsehead  Crossing  on  the  Pecos, 
to  old  Fort  Stockton,  on  to  Presidio  del  Norte  on  the  Rio 
Grande  in  Mexico. 

In  1868  I went  with  W.  C.  Lewis  with  a herd  of  beeves  for 
the  government,  to  be  delivered  at  old  Fort  Hudson  on 
Devil’s  River.  We  went  by  way  of  Kerrville,  Bandera,  Uvalde, 
Fort  Clark  and  San  Felipe  Springs  (Del  Rio.) 

In  1869,  George  T.  Dorris  & Son  of  St.  Louis,  and  Felix 
Dorris  of  Montana,  contracted  with  W.  C.  Lewis  of  Freder- 
icksburg, and  Pleas  Oatman  of  San  Antonio,  for  1700  head 
of  beeves  and  150  stock  cattle  to  be  delivered  to  them  at 
Salado  Springs  in  Bell  county,  and  I was  employed  to  help 
make  the  delivery  in  four  herds.  Lewis  took  one  herd  from 
Crabapple  Creek  in  Gillespie;  I took  one  herd  from  near 
Loyal  Valley;  Old  Man  Hoerster  took  one  from  Mason,  and 
John  Oatman  one  from  Llano.  They  were  all  old  wild 
longhorns,  from  five  to  fifteen  years  old,  and  we  had  to 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


373 


brand  them  on  the  horns  and  saw  off  the  point  of  the  left 
horn  when  we  delivered  them.  The  Dorris  Company  then 
hired  me  to  go  to  Montana  with  the  herd,  and  we  went  by 
Belton,  Waco,  Cleburne,  Fort  Worth,  Gainesville,  Fort  Ar- 
buckle,  east  of  Wichita  to  Abilene,  Kansas.  We  had  to  swim 
all  the  rivers  from  the  Brazos  to  the  Republican.  We  had  a 
boat  on  one  of  our  wagons  to  carry  our  camp  outfit  and 
the  boys  who  could  not  swim  crossed  the  rivers  in  it.  We 
had  many  rainstorms  and  stampedes  before  we  reached  Kan- 
sas, but  I will  not  undertake  to  describe  them.  After  we  left 
Abilene  we  drove  north,  crossing  the  Republican  River,  the  Big 
and  Little  Blue  Stocking,  the  Platte  at  Fort  Kearney,  thence 
up  the  Platte  by  Fort  McPherson  to  Julesburg,  up  Lodge  Pole 
Creek  to  Cheyenne  City;  through  Cheyenne  Pass  and  over 
the  mountains  to  Laramie  City;  on  around  the  base  of  the 
mountains  by  Elk  Mountain;  crossing  the  North  Platte  where 
it  flowed  out  of  the  mountains;  then  through  Bridger  Pass 
on  down  Bitter  Creek  to  Green  River.  At  Green  River  Sta- 
tion we  had  a snowstorm,  and  the  owners  decided  to  winter 
at  Brown’s  Hole,  about  seventy-five  miles  down  Green  River. 
Two  tribes  of  Ute  Indians  came  in  and  camped  near  us  the 
following  spring.  They  moved  out  before  we  did  and  took 
some  of  our  horses  with  them.  That  winter  we  had  to  cut 
ice  for  the  cattle  to  get  water.  We  moved  out  from  there 
about  the  first  of  May,  1870,  when  the  snow  was  melting 
and  had  to  swim  streams  again.  We  went  back  to  Green 
River  Station,  and  there  the  owners  decided  to  drive  the  cat- 
tle to  Nevada.  We  took  the  California  and  Oregon  route 
west  to  the  parting  of  the  ways  near  old  Fort  Bridger,  taking 
the  northern  route  down  Bear  River,  through  Bear  Lake  Val- 
ley, Soda  Springs,  on  down  to  Snake  River  to  where  the 
old  routes  divided,  then  followed  the  California  route,  cross- 
ing the  Portneff,  Goose  Creek,  Raft  River,  through  the  City 
of  Rocks,  Thousand  Springs  Valley  to  Humbolt  Wells,  down 
the  Humbolt  River  to  Lassen’s  Meadows.  They  shipped  all 
of  the  cattle  that  were  fat  to  San  Francisco,  and  I took  500 
head  up  near  the  Oregon  line  and  kept  them  until  the  spring 
of  1871,  when  we  rounded  them  up  and  sold  them  on  the 
range,  and  I started  for  Texas  via  the  railroad  route,  passing 


3 74 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


through  Winnemucca,  Nevada,  Ogden,  Utah,  and  Cheyenne, 
Wyoming,  coming  on  through  Denver,  Kansas  City  and  St. 
Louis;  by  boat  down  the  Mississippi  to  New  Orleans,  and 
Galveston;  to  Columbus  by  rail,  to  San  Antonio  by  stage,  and 
then  went  to  my  home  in  Gillespie  county  on  horseback. 


AN  OLD  FRONTIERSMAN  TELLS  HIS  EXPERIENCE 

By  Joe  Chapman,  Benton,  Texas. 

I was  born  in  Tennessee  February  18,  1854,  and  came  to 
Texas  with  my  parents  when  I was  about  five  years  old.  My 
father  stopped  in  Parker  county  for  a short  time,  then  bought 
a tract  of  land  in  Jack  county,  nine  miles  north  of  Jacksboro, 
on  Hall’s  Creek,  and  opened  up  a fine  farm  there.  At  that 
time  we  were  on  the  extreme  frontier,  and  the  country  was 
infested  with  hostile  Indians  who  made  raids  almost  every  full 
moon,  and  we  had  to  keep  our  horses  locked  with  trace 
chains  to  trees  in  the  yard  to  keep  the  redskins  from  steal- 
ing them.  In  July,  i860,  my  father  was  waylaid  and  killed 
by  the  Indians,  while  he  was  out  deer  hunting  in  a little  ravine 
near  home.  This  tragedy  happened  just  at  sundown,  and 
was  so  near  home  I heard  his  gun  fire  and  we  all  thought  he 
was  shooting  a deer.  But  when  he  failed  to  return  we  be- 
came uneasy,  and  gave  the  alarm,  and  next  morning  the 
neighbors  found  his  body.  He  had  been  shot  eighteen  times 
with  arrows,  scalped,  and  his  clothing  taken.  His  gun  had 
been  broken  off  at  the  breech  evidently  in  the  hand-to-hand 
struggle  that  took  place  when  the  Indians  closed  in  upon 
him. 

Sometime  previous  to  the  killing  of  my  father,  the  Indians 
had  murdered  a man  named  Cooley,  our  nearest  neighbor, 
three  miles  away.  Also  in  the  same  year  one  of  the  Brown- 
ing boys  over  on  the  West  Fork  was  killed  and  his  brother 
shot  through  the  breast  with  an  arrow.  Before  that  the 
Loss  Valley  murder  took  place,  in  which  several  women  and 
children  were  killed,  one  of  the  women,  Mrs.  Cameron,  being 
scalped  and  left  for  dead,  but  recovered.  After  father’s  death 
we  went  back  down  in  Parker  county  and  remained  there  un- 
til the  winter  of  1861-2,  then  moved  to  Cook  county,  and 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


375 


G.  O.  BURROW 


J.  O.  TAYLOR 


W.  J.  WILSON 


TOL  McNEILL 


376 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


often  had  to  leave  there  on  account  of  the  Indians,  some- 
times going  as  far  east  as  Collin  county. 

In  1863,  on  Christmas  Day,  the  Indians  made  a raid  on 
the  head  of  Elm,  where  the  large  town  of  Saint  Jo  now  stands, 
and  all  of  the  people  went  to  the  old  Spanish  fort  on  Red 
River  for  protection.  They  killed  many  people  and  stole 
lots  of  stock  in  this  raid.  I knew  a little  boy  and  girl  named 
Anderson  who  escaped  and  came  to  old  Fort  Wallace  the 
next  day.  Their  parents  and  other  members  of  the  family 
were  murdered,  and  the  little  boy’s  throat  was  cut  and  gashed 
with  lances.  Another  family  was  killed  and  their  home  burned. 
The  Indians  also  killed  a little  boy  named  Guinn,  cut  his 
arms  off  and  stuck  his  body  on  a pole.  Near  the  same  place 
later  on  the  Box  family  were  captured,  th&  father  being  killed 
before  their  eyes  and  the  mother,  two  grown  daughters  and  an 
infant  being  carried  away  into  a captivity  worse  than  death. 
Up  near  Fort  Sill  one  of  the  daughters,  a beautiful  girl  in  her 
teens,  was  treated  in  a most  shocking  manner  by  the  savages. 
These  tragedies  occurred  when  1 was  but  a child,  but  I re- 
member many  of  them  vividly. 

During  the  four  years  of  the  Civil  War  the  people  of  the 
Red  River  country,  Montague,  Cooke,  Wise  and  Denton  coun- 
ties, had  a severe  struggle  to  get  along.  Everything  was  of 
primitive  style,  and  we  had  to  get  along  the  best  we  could. 
Most  of  our  houses  were  built  of  logs,  some  of  them  roughly 
hewn  and  with  the  bark  on,  and  the  cracks  “chinked”  with 
sticks  and  mud,  with  dirt  floors  and  a big  wide  chimney. 
Sometimes  a family  would  get  “tony”  and  hew  logs  on  one 
side  and  make  a puncheon  floor  for  their  home  and  thus 
get  into  the  “upper  class.”  In  the  summer  we  would  move 
out  and  live  in  these  log  houses,  but  in  the  fall  and  winter 
the  Indians  kept  us  in  the  forts.  We  had  plenty  to  eat,  al- 
though we  had  to  take  our  grain  fifty  miles  to  a mill  to  have 
it  ground.  We  had  no  money,  but  did  not  need  much  for 
we  could  not  buy  such  things  as  coffee,  sugar,  soap,  matches, 
pins  or  anything  to  wear,  and  we  were  compelled  to  spin 
and  weave  all  of  the  cloth  that  made  our  clothing.  Rye, 
corn,  wheat,  okra  seed  and  roasted  acorns  were  used  as  a 
substitute  for  coffee. 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


377 


In  1868  my  brother,  about  eighteen  years  old,  was  way- 
laid and  killed  by  Indians  between  Gainesville  and  Fort 
Wallace  while  on  a trip  to  the  fort.  Thus  the  savages  had 
killed  two  of  our  famliy,  in  each  instance  our  chief  support 
and  protector.  That  same  year  we  moved  to  Atascosa  coun- 
ty, where  we  had  relatives,  and  as  I was  about  fifteen  years 
old  I was  considered  large  enough  to  be  of  help  in  working 
with  cattle,  on  the  round  ups  and  roping  and  branding  on 
the  range.  In  those  days  every  waddy  had  two  crooked 
irons  attached  to  his  saddle  and  a pocket  full  of  matches, 
and  the  maverick  that  got  away  was  sure  enough  a speeder. 
In  the  fall  of  1870  I worked  on  the  Redus  ranch  on  the 
Hondo,  working  cattle  with  George,  John  and  Bill  Redus 
and  Tally  Burnett.  Later  I worked  for  V.  A.  Johnson,  but 
mostly  for  Lytle  & McDaniel.  I learned  all  I know  about 
handling  cattle  from  V.  A.  Johnson  and  Tom  McDaniel.  If 
a boy  working  under  them  did  not  make  a good  hand  in  the 
brush  or  on  the  trail  there  was  simply  nothing  to  him.  There 
is  Uncle  Bob  Ragsdale,  Will  Lytle  and  Captain  John  Lytle, 
with  whom  1 worked,  who  were  all  good  men  and  true.  All 
have  reached  the  end  of  the  trail  and  gone  over  the  great 
Divide,  except  Uncle  Bob  Ragsdale. 

I made  my  first  trip  up  the  trail  in  1872  with  a herd  for 
Lytle  & McDaniel,  with  1800  head  of  cattle  from  yearlings 
up  to  grown  beeves  and  cows.  We  routed  them  across  Mus- 
tang Prairie  to  the  Medina,  then  up  the  Louse  and  over  to 
the  Lucas  to  the  old  John  Adams  Ranch,  on  to  San  Antonio, 
skirting  the  northwestern  part  of  the  town  and  passed  on  to 
the  Salado.  After  we  passed  San  Antonio  we  had  quite  a 
rainstorm  and  our  cattle  split  up  in  small  bunches  and  scat- 
tered everywhere.  We  lost  about  thirty  head  in  this  stam- 
pede which  we  did  not  get  back.  Tom  McDaniel  was  se- 
lected as  boss  of  the  outfit,  which  consisted  of  sixteen 
men.  Four  men  had  interest  in  this  herd,  viz,  Tom  McDan- 
iel, Jim  Speed,  Uncle  Ben  Duncan  and  Newt  Woofter.  Gus 
Black,  Tom  Smith  and  myself  were  the  only  white  hands 
with  the  outfit,  the  other  hands  being  Mexicans,  except  old 
Jack  Burckley,  the  cook.  Jim  and  Dock  Watts,  who  lived 
at  the  Mann  Crossing  on  the  Medina,  came  to  us  further  up 


378 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


the  trail.  Woofter  went  with  us  but  did  not  come  back.  Jim 
Speed  was  killed  in  Moore  several  years  ago;  Tom  McDaniel 
died  in  1887;  Uncle  Ben  Duncan  died  in  1919,  and  the  old 
cook  also  went  the  way  we  must  all  go  sooner  or  later.  Gus 
Black  of  Eagle  Pass  is  the  only  one  of  my  old  comrades  on 
this  drive  who  is  still  living. 

In  1874  I made  a trip  up  the  old  Chisholm  trail  with 
1000  beeves  which  had  been  selected  and  put  in  the  Shiner 
pasture  below  Pearsall.  We  went  to  work  gathering  them 
about  the  20th  of  February  and  it  took  us  until  the  5th  of 
March  to  get  them  out  of  the  thickets,  inspected  and  road- 
branded.  These  cattle  were  in  good  shape  and  as  fine  beeves 
as  you  ever  saw,  no  she  stuff,  and  mostly  threes  and  up. 
There  were  a few  twos,  but  they  were  all  fours  when  we 
got  through  and  ready  for  the  market.  On  the  morning  of 
March  5th  we  pointed  those  old  moss-headed  beeves  up  the 
trail  and  made  it  to  the  Davis  ranch  that  night.  Uncle  Bob 
said  we  could  pen  them  there  and  perhaps  get  a little  sleep, 
but  a norther  and  a dry  thunder  storm  blew  up  and  everybody 
had  to  get  around  that  old  pen  and  sing  to  them  while 
they  were  milling  around  like  a grindstone.  We  pulled  out 
from  there  at  sun  rise  the  next  morning  and  drove  to  the 
old  John  Adams  ranch  on  the  Castroville  road,  where  we 
penned  the  beeves  again  and  had  another  bad  night.  No- 
body got  any  sleep,  but  we  kept  them  in  the  pen.  When 
the  herd  reached  New  Braunfels  Uncle  Bob,  who  was  act- 
ing boss,  turned  the  herd  over  to  Bill  Perryman,  and  turned 
back.  Our  regular  boss  was  V.  A.  Johnson,  who  had  been 
detained  in  San  Antonio  on  account  of  sickness  in  his  family. 

We  crossed  the  Guadalupe  River  in  a rain,  and  just  after 
nightfall  we  had  a severe  storm  with  lots  of  thunder,  light- 
ning and  cold.  It  was  so  dark  most  of  the  hands  left  us 
and  went  to  the  chuck  wagon  except  W.  T.  Henson,  myself 
and  old  Chief,  a negro.  We  had  to  let  them  drift,  and  it 
took  us  two  or  three  days  to  get  them  back  together.  We 
were  about  thirty  head  short  when  we  counted  and  pulled 
out  from  there.  When  we  reached  the  vicinity  where  Kyle 
is  now  located  we  had  another  big  storm  and  a general  mix- 
up  with  some  other  herds  that  were  near  us.  We  had  quite  a 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


3 79 

time  cutting'  our  cattle  out  and  getting  them  all  back,  es- 
pecially some  strays  that  were  in  the  herd. 

We  had  storms  and  stampedes  all  the  way  up  to  Red  River, 
which  we  reached  about  the  16th  of  April.  We  never  did 
succeed  in  holding  all  of  them  at  any  time.  We  had  a few 
old  trouble-makers  in  the  herd,  which,  if  they  had  been  shot 
when  we  first  started,  would  have  saved  us  a lot  of  worry. 
They  ran  so  much  they  became  regular  old  scalawags.  But 
strange  to  say,  we  never  had  a single  stampede  while  passing 
through  the  Indian  Territory.  The  Indians  did  not  give  us 
as  much  trouble  on  this  trip  as  they  did  in  1872. 

Ed  Chambers  was  killed  at  Pond  Creek,  while  in  charge 
of  a herd  for  Tucker  & Duncan.  We  had  some  exciting 
times  getting  our  herd  across  Red  River,  which  was  on  a big 
rise,  and  nearly  a mile  wide,  with  all  kinds  of  large  trees  float- 
ing down  on  big  foam-capped  waves  that  looked  larger 
than  a wagon  sheet,  but  we  had  to  put  our  herd  over  to 
the  other  side.  Henson  and  I were  selected  to  go  across 
and  hold  the  cattle  v/hen  they  reached  the  opposite  side. 
We  were  mounted  on  small  paint  ponies,  and  the  one  I was 
riding  got  into  some  quicksand  just  under  the  water  and 
stuck  there.  I dismounted  in  water  about  knee  deep,  rolled 
him  over  and  took  off  my  saddle,  bridle  and  leggings,  then 
undressed  myself,  and  called  some  of  the  boys  to  come  in  and 
get  my  things,  while  I headed  my  horse  for  the  north  bank 
with  just  a rope  around  his  neck.  I figured  that  if  my  little 
pony  could  not  make  it  across  I would  use  one  of  those  moss- 
headed steers  for  a ferry-boat,  but  the  little  fellow  took  me 
safely  over.  He  swam  all  of  the  way  with  his  nose  just  out 
of  the  water.  Three  herds  crossed  the  river  that  day  and 
one  man  was  drowned,  besides  several  cattle.  Hub  Hunt  of 
Gonzales  got  away  from  his  pony  in  some  way  and  we  had 
to  fish  him  out,  and  a fellow  named  Barkley  was  knocked 
off  and  pawed  in  the  face  by  his  horse,  and  we  got  him  out 
too.  We  had  one  horse,  which  I had  intended  to  ride,  which 
would  not  attempt  to  swim  at  all,  and  we  had  to  take  him 
across  on  the  ferry-boat.  We  tried  to  get  him  to  swim  the 
river  but  he  would  only  turn  up  on  his  side,  curl  his  tail,  and 
float  back  to  the  bank.  He  was  a fine  looking  red  roan,  was 


380 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


raised  on  the  Noonan  Ranch  near  Castroville  and  branded 
circle  dot  on  left  shoulder.  He  fell  on  me  one  night  during 
a stampede  at  Wichita,  and  seemed  to  be  a Jonah  all  around. 

It  took  about  four  weeks  to  move  our  herd  across  the  Ter- 
ritory, during  which  time  we  had  some  fun  killing  and  roping 
buffalo.  Some  of  our  outfit  returned  by  way  of  the  old  Cof- 
feyville  trail,  as  the  Indians  were  on  the  warpath  on  the 
Chisholm  trail  because  some  buffalo  hunters  had  killed  some 
of  their  bucks  and  they  wanted  revenge. 


PARENTS  WERE  AMONG  EARLY  COLONISTS 

By  Henry  Fest,  1708  South  Flores  Street,  San  Antonio,  Tex. 

My  father,  Simon  Fest,  ,and  mother,  Mary  Fest,  were 
married  in  Alsace,  France,  in  the  fall  of  1845,  and  immediate- 
ly started  for  the  United  States,  a journey  which  lasted  three 
months  and  15  days,  landing  at  Indianola,  Texas;  from  there 
they  came  with  the  Castro  Colony,  locating  at  Castroville, 
the  11th  day  of  February,  1846,  where  they  first  stopped 
for  about  two  months,  and  then  came  to  San  Antonio, 
where  my  father  took  up  his  trade  as  stone  mason  which 
yielded  the  handsome  return  of  fifty  cents  per  day  while  my 
mother  followed  the  occupation  of  seamstress  at  the  same 
price,  fifty  cents  a day,  doing  such  work  for  the  Bracketts, 
Mavericks,  Nat  Lewis,  Dignowity  and  other  citizens  here  at 
the  time  who  could  afford  such  luxury. 

With  such  accumulations  as  they  could  make  above  ex- 
penses of  maintenance,  my  father  acquired  a yoke  of  steers 
and  an  old  wagon  which  he  used  in  hauling  hay,  cut  with 
a scythe-blade,  and  selling  to  the  Government  for  the  use  of 
the  soldiers  then  stationed  here.  Meantime  he  bought  a lot 
on  Main  Avenue,  then  Acequa  street,  for  which  he  pair  $50, 
and  erected  a log  cabin  with  a tullie  roof,  and  began  to  live 
at  home.  As  time  went  on  he  began  buying  cows,  and  trad- 
ing with  the  Indians  for  hides  they  brought  in,  which  he  sold 
to  Mr.  Gilbeau  “the  local  hyde  dealer.”  After  accumulating 
more  cows  than  could  be  accommodated  in  the  village,  he  ac- 
quired land  at  the  head  of  the  river,  where  Alamo  Heights  is 
now,  and  went  back  into  the  hay  business  for  the  Govern- 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


381 


nient;  in  1852,  a colony  of  relations  was  made  up  with  whom 
he  went  down  to  the  Gallinas  (Prairie  Chicken’s  Paradise) 
where  he  followed  the  cattle  business,  remaining  there  after 
all  the  balance  of  the  colony  had  dispersed  except  himself 
and  his  only  neighbor,  Simon  Rieder;  and  at  which  place, 
the  Test  Ranch,  1 was  born  on  the  9th  day  of  May,  1856. 
He  stayed  there  until  1859,  and  then  moved  down  on  the 
Atascosa  Creek,  two  miles  east  of  Pleasanton,  which  is  called 
until  yet  “the  Fest  Ranch,”  where  we  lived  all  during  the 
Confederate  War,  father  having  become  a member  of  Captain 
Tom’s  Company  of  Indian  Scouts  and  remained  with  it  until 
the  war  broke  up,  while  we  had  to  get  along  as  best  we 
could  in  his  absence.  The  family  consisted  of  mother,  six 
children  and  two  orphans  father  was  raising.  The  children 
large  enough  to  work,  engaged  in  enlarging  the  little  field 
father  had  begun  to  open  up  before  entering  the  service, 
each  one  doing  his  bit.  The  family  ran  the  ranch,  culti- 
vated the  land,  harvested  the  crops  and  cared  for  the  live- 
stock, in  addition  to  doing  a variety  of  things  for  use  and 
comfort  that  only  pioneers  know  how  to  do  with  skill  and 
success.  Among  those  other  things  were:  burned  their  own 
lime,  dressed  the  hides,  tanned  them  with  live-oak  and  mes- 
quite  bark;  while  the  mother  made  the  shoes  for  the  family 
and  for  the  neighborhood,  made  hats  of  coon  skins,  and  still 
found  time  to  spin  the  wool  clipped  from  our  own  flocks, 
which  was  woven  into  cloth  on  the  neighborhood  loom.  The 
cloth  was  dyed  with  a weed  called  “Indigo”  that  grew  in  the 
creek  near  by  and  by  mother  made  into  clothes  for  herself 
and  children. 

The  important  matter  of  food  was  well  looked  after,  with 
plenty  of  meat  and  field  produce  there  was  no  need  to  go 
hungry.  But,  the  things  that  go  with  it.  Coffee?  Yes,  we 
had  coffee — made  out  of  corn,  acorns,  and  sweet  potatoes, 
while  honey  was  used  as  a substitute  for  sugar.  With  an 
abundance  of  milk,  cream,  butter  and  eggs,  this  home-made 
“Postom”  went  all  right  until  we  renewed  acquaintance  with 
real  coffee  afterwards. 

While  shelter,  food  and  clothes  were  thus  acquired,  we 
were  not  lacking  in  matters  of  excitement  and  thrills.  In 


382 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


addition  to  the  usual  exhilerating  experiences  of  ranch  life — 
there  were  Indians,  lots  of  them,  and  they  were  real  savages 
who  did  not  stop  at  stealing  or  murdering  when  it  suited 
their  purposes  to  do  so.  This  constituted  a real  danger  that 
had  to  be  considered,  and  hence,  the  old  men  past  the  age  of 
going  into  the  Civil  War,  were  associated  together  as  “Home 
Guards,”  and  their  duties  were  to  notify  all  the  families  in 
the  country  of  any  reported  approach  of  Indians,  and  the 
families  were  disposed  of  by  going  into  a designated  place 
where  they  could  be  the  better  protected  against  the  Indians 
by  the  guards  surrounding  their  retreat,  until  all  danger  had 
passed. 

With  this  kind  of  environment,  boys  naturally  learned 
horseback  riding,  loved  it,  and  practiced  to  become  skillful 
“bronco  busters”  and  good  shots. 

After  the  war,  my  mother  became  tired  of  life  on  the  ranch 
with  its  incidents,  and  father  sold  much  of  his  stock  and 
moved  his  family  to  San  Antonio  on  South  Flores  street  where 
he  ran  a dairy  at  which  I worked  until  I was  fifteen  years 
old.  Then  father  made  me  quit  bronco  riding  and  put  me 
in  a blacksmith  shop,  but  the  repairs  on  Mexican  carts  and 
freight  wagons  which  freighted  between  here  and  Mexico, 
was  too  hard  a job  for  a boy  of  my  nature,  and  my  liking 
for  the  bronco-riding  caused  me  to  run  away  from  the 
shop  and  go  on  the  trail  to  Kansas.  My  first  trip  was  in 
1871,  leaving  San  Antonio  on  the  9th  day  of  March,  and 
returning  the  8th  day  of  September.  When  I got  back  I ran 
a bunch  of  men  doing  nothing  but  branding  “mavericks”  on 
the  Frio  and  Nueces  for  a man  by  the  name  of  Goins.  I con- 
tinued at  that  until  January,  1872,  and  in  February  following 
made  a contract  with  a man  by  name  of  Votaw  to  take  a 
herd  to  Kansas  for  him,  as  boss.  Coming  back  in  October  of 
the  same  year,  I went  to  work  for  my  father  again,  running 
stock  for  him  until  1876 — in  which  year  (the  Centennial)  I 
went  north  and  returned  the  latter  part  of  1876.  In  1877  1 
went  into  the  butcher  business  for  myself,  afterwards  sold  out 
my  market  and  engaged  in  the  mercantile  business,  in  which 
I continued  until  1907,  when  I sold  out  and  retired. 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


383 


PHIL  L.  WRIGHT. 

Phil  L.  Wright,  fire  and  police  commissioner  of  the  City 
of  San  Antonio,  was  horn  in  Kentucky  in  1868,  the  son  of 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  W.  F.  Wright,  who  were  Tennesseans.  When 
only  three  years  of  age  his  parents  brought  him  to  Texas, 
where  he  attended  the  public  schools  until  1884,  when  he 
went  to  West  Texas  to  work  on  the  cow  ranch  of  High 
Webb,  near  San  Angelo.  In  the  spring  of  1885  he  went  up 
the  trail  the  first  time  with  a herd  of  twenty-three  hundred 
head  of  cattle  belonging  to  Mr.  Webb,  William  Sherman  be- 
ing boss  of  the  outfit.  The  herd  was  gathered  on  the  range 
covering  Runnels,  Tom  Green,  Concho  and  adjoining  coun- 
ties and  started  from  a point  on  the  Colorado  River  where 
the  city  of  Ballinger  now  stands,  and  was  driven  to  the 
Rocky  Mountains  in  the  state  of  Colorado,  fifty  miles  behind 
Pike’s  Peak  where  the  major  portion  of  the  cattle  were  sold 
to  a man  by  the  name  of  Frost.  The  remainder  of  the  herd 
was  ranched  in  the  mountains  and  a man  from  the  outfit  by 
the  name  of  Billy  Irwin  was  left  in  charge  of  them. 

The  route  taken  by  this  herd  was  by  way  of  Abilene, 
Texas,  crossing  the  Brazos  River  at  Seymour,  Pease  River 
at  Vernon,  Red  River  at  Doan’s  Store,  by  way  of  Comanche 
Springs  and  out  through  the  neutral  strip,  known  as  No 
Man’s  Land,  crossing  the  Arkansas  River  on  the  Kansas  and 
Colorado  line  just  above  the  town  of  Coolidge,  Kansas,  strik- 
ing the  Union  Pacific  railway  at  Kit  Carson,  on  to  Hugo, 
Colorado,  and  from  Hugo  to  Colorado  Springs,  Manitou, 
through  Ute  Pass  around  the  foot  of  Pike’s  Peak,  fifty  miles 
up  in  the  mountains  to  the  Frost  Ranch. 

The  Webb  Ranch  was  in  Runnels  county  on  the  Colorado 
River  adjoining  the  Blocker  Ranch.  The  first  year  he  went 
up  the  trail  John  Blocker  was  delivering  herds  at  Hugo,  Colo- 
rado, and  they  drove  along  the  same  trail  with  him  and  saw 
hundreds  of  dead  Blocker  steers  along  the  route. 

After  the  herd  was  disposed  of  Mr.  Wright  returned  to 
Texas  with  other  members  of  the  outfit,  and  resumed  work 
on  the  Webb  Ranch,  working  the  range  for  Mr.  Webb  until 
he  resigned  to  accept  a position  on  the  TS  and  SOX  Ranch 
which  was  run  by  W.  L.  McAuley,  where  he  worked  for 


384 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


about  two  years,  then  accepted  employment  with  the  Concho 
Cattle  Company,  where  he  worked  until  the  spring  of  1881, 
when  he  resigned  to  accept  a position  with  D.  E.  Simms, 
who  was  gathering  a herd  for  the  trail. 

This  herd  started  on  the  trail  at  Paint  Rock,  Concho  coun- 
ty, Bob  Pearce  being  boss  of  the  outfit.  It  was  driven  by 
way  of  Colorado  City,  taking  the  plains  at  the  head  of  the 
Brazos  River,  going  by  way  of  Plainview  and  Canyon,  to 
Amarillo,  where  the  herd  was  quarantined  and  shipped  from 
there  by  rail  to  Colorado. 

Mr.  Wright  then  returned  to  San  Antonio,  Texas,  where  his 
people  resided,  and  secured  employment  in  the  San  Antonio 
fire  department,  his  first  position  being  that  of  pipeman.  His 
promotions  in  the  department  were  as  follows:  Assistant  en- 
gineer, engineer,  lieutenant,  captain,  first  assistant  chief,  May 
1st,  1899,  and  in  the  year  1905,  was  appointed  chief  of  the 
department.  Remained  chief  until  1911,  when  he  resigned 
of  his  own  accord.  In  1912,  he  was  again  made  chief  of 
the  department  and  remained  chief  until  June,  1917,  when 
Commissioner  Lowther,  for  political  reasons,  declined  to  re- 
appoint him.  Mr.  Wright  was  elected  commissioner  of  fire 
and  police  June  4th,  1918,  holding  that  position  at  the  pres- 
ent time. 

Mr.  Wright  was  married  in  1906  to  Miss  Pearl  Morris,  who 
died  in  February,  1909,  leaving  a son,  Phil  L.  Wright,  Jr., 
now  twelve  years  of  age.  He  was  married  again  in  1916  to 
Miss  Jewel  Mitchell,  they  having  a girl,  Alma  lone,  three 
years  of  age. 


REFLECTIONS  OF  THE  TRAIL 

By  George  W.  Saunders,  San  Antonio,  Texas. 

1 was  born  at  Rancho,  Gonzales  county,  Texas,  February 
12th,  1854.  My  father  and  mother  settled  in  that  county  in 
1850,  coming  with  several  other  immigrants  in  ox  wagons 
from  Mississippi.  In  1859  they  moved  to  Goliad  county  and 
settled  twelve  miles  west  of  Goliad,  on  Lost  Creek,  where 
father  previously  selected  a place  to  start  a cattle'  ranch.  At 
that  time  I was  only  five  years  old,  but  I can  remember  rid- 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


385 


ing  a side  saddle  belonging  to  one  of  my  sisters  and  helping- 
keep  up  the  tail  end  of  the  herd  part  of  the  time  on  this 
trip.  At  Helena  I saw  my  first  white  house,  and  when  we 
crossed  the  San  Antonio  River  at  Wofford  Crossing  I remem- 
ber how  excited  we  all  were  when  our  herd  was  in  the  swift 
water.  Part  of  them  floated  down  below  the  ford,  and  it 
required  a great  deal  of  time  to  get  them  out  at  different 
points  for  half  a mile  down  the  river.  Never  having  seen 
anything  like  this  before,  my  mother  thought  all  of  the  cattle 
were  lost  when  she  saw  them  going  down  the  stream.  In  a 
few  days  we  reached  our  new  home  and  camped  on  the  site 
which  father  had  selected  and  father  and  my  two  oldest 
brothers,  Mat  and  Bill,  assisted  by  some  hired  help  began 
cutting  and  hauling  timber  to  build  houses  and  stock  pens, 
while  myself  and  brother,  Jack,  a third  brother  older  than 
I,  range  herded  the  cattle  to  locate  them. 

Fish  and  game  were  plentiful,  deer  were  constantly  in  sight 
of  our  camp,  in  fact  that  country  was  in  a perfectly  wild 
state.  Only  a few  cattle  were  on  the  range  which  was  as 
fine  as  could  be  found  anywhere.  In  a few  months  we  were 
comfortably  quartered  and  happy  in  our  new  location.  Father 
had  taken  a herd  of  cattle  on  shares  from  William  Rupe,  get- 
ting every  third  calf  for  attending  to  them,  and  we  all  kept 
busy  looking  after  the  stock.  We  soon  became  acquainted 
with  the  settlers,  with  whom  we  worked  the  ranges,  and 
neighbored  with  them  in  every  sense  of  the  term.  The  fol- 
lowing families  were  among  those  who  lived  from  five  to 
thirty-five  miles  from  us:  Pettus,  Hodges,,  Word,  Peck, 

Reynolds,  Meyers,  Lott,  Burris,  Rutledge,  Best,  Fant,  Rupe, 
Choate,  Borroum,  Butler,  McKinney,  New,  Rawlings,  Hender- 
son, Paschal  and  others.  This  being  before  the  days  of  the 
chuck  wagon,  the  men  would  set  a date  and  place  to  meet 
for  what  we  called  a “cow  hunt.”  Each  man  would  bring 
bedding,  coffee  pot,  tin  cup,  a wallet  of  biscuit,  salt,  some- 
times sugar,  four  or  five  horses  each,  and  we  would  work  the 
surrounding  range  until  all  cattle  belonging  to  the  outfit  were 
gathered  and  held  under  herd,  then  we  would  select  a pack 
horse  for  our  equipment  and  move  to  some  other  part  of 
the  range,  gathering  cattle  as  we  went.  When  grub  got 


386 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


scarce  we  would  send  after  more  supplies  to  some  nearby 
ranch.  Usually  it  required  from  ten  to  fifteen  days  to  make 
these  trips,  then  each  man  wouuld  take  his  cattle  home,  put 
all  the  calves  in  a pen  in  order  to  locate  the  mother  cows, 
and  range  herd  the  dry  cattle  for  a few  days  and  locate  them. 
We  were  prosperous  and  happy  until  the  Civil  War  started, 
and  father  and  my  oldest  brother  entered  the  service  the  first 
year,  and  another  brother  enlisted  the  second  year,  which  left 
Brother  Jack  and  myself  to  take  care  of  our  stock  with  the 
assistance  of  a few  old  men  and  some  negroes. 

We  worked  the  range  constantly  during  the  war.  The 
range  was  full  of  wild  mustang  horses,  and  they  caused  us  a 
lot  of  trouble  for  we  had  to  keep  our  horse  stock  from  get- 
ting with  them,  for  once  they  got  mixed  with  the  mustangs 
they  soon  became  as  wild  or  wilder  than  these  wild  horses. 
In  order  to  capture  or  kill  these  mustangs  the  stockmen  built 
pens  around  water  holes  and  prepared  traps  to  ensnare  them. 
To  these  pens  wings  would  be  constructed  in  the  shape  of  a 
V,  forming  a chute  through  which  the  mustangs  would  be 
compelled  to  go  to  water.  Once  a bunch  of  mustangs  passed 
through  the  chute  to  the  water  hole  the  gate  would  be  shut 
by  a watchman  who  had  lain  in  wait  in  concealment  tor  the 
horses,  and  the  animals  were  securely  snared.  They  would 
then  be  forced  into  a small,  well  built  enclosure  constructed 
of  rails  to  a height  of  eight  or  ten  feet,  where  they  were 
roped  and  made  gentle.  These  animals  were  of  Spanish 
origin  and  were  noted  for  their  endurance  on  the  range  and 
trail.  The  settlers  used  various  unique  methods  in  capturing 
them,  one  way  being  to  walk  them  down.  Some  men  would 
take  three  or  four  days’  supply  of  provisions,  start  a bunch  of 
mustangs,  follow  them  as  closely  as  possible,  and  when  they 
got  out  of  sight  of  the  pursuer  would  pick  up  their  trail, 
keep  right  after  them,  never  giving  them  time  to  eat  or 
rest  day  or  night.  Usually  on  the  second  day  of  the  chase 
he  could  get  closer  to  them;  the  third  or  fourth  day  he  could 
drive  them  in  home  with  a bunch  of  gentle  horses  and  easily 
pen  them.  They  were  caught  in  many  different  ways  and 
oftentimes  shot  in  order  to  rid  the  range  of  their  presence. 
Before  long  they  disappeared  entirely.  Our  cattle  increased 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


387 


GUS  BLACK 


388 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


to  such  proportions  with  new  herds  coming  into  our  country 
from  East  Texas  and  Louisiana  that  by  the  time  the  war  ended 
our  range  was  overstocked.  We  sold  a few  cattle  to  the  gov- 
ernment, and  a few  to  Mexican  freighters  for  work  oxen. 

I shall  never  forget  the  first  stampede  1 experienced.  George 
Bell,  who  was  exempt  from  military  service  on  account  of  one 
eye  being  blind,  agreed  to  take  a herd  of  beeves  to  Mexico 
and  exchange  for  supplies  for  the  war  widows.  The  neigh- 
bors got  together  about  two  hundred  of  these  beeves,  my  ' 
mother  putting  in  twenty  head.  We  delivered  the  herd  to 
Mr.  Bell  at  the  Pettus  ranch  where  Pettus  Station  now  stands. 
This  was  in  1864,  when  I was  ten  years  old.  We  put  our 
cattle  in  the  herd  and  brother  Jack  and  I agreed  to  help 
hold  them.  That  night  shortly  after  dark  something  scared 
the  beeves  and  they  made  a run.  I had  never  heard  any- 
thing like  tthe  rumbling  noise  they  made,  but  I put  spurs  to 
my  horse  and  followed  the  noise.  We  ran  those  cattle  all 
night  and  at  daybreak  we  found  we  had  not  lost  a beef, 
but  we  had  five  or  six  bunches  four  or  five  miles  apart,  and 
two  or  three  men  or  boys  with  each  bunch.  We  soon  had 
them  all  together  and  Mr.  Bell  started  them  on  the  trip. 
When  he  returned  from  Mexico  he  brought  us  one  sack  of 
coffee,  two  sets  of  knives  and  forks,  two  pairs  of  spurs,  two 
bridle  bits,  and  two  fancy  “hackamores”  or  bridle  headstalls,  i 
for  which  he  had  traded  our  twenty  beeves,  and  we  were 
well  pleased  with  our  deal,  for  in  those  days  such  things  were 
considered  luxuries,  and  we  were  glad  to  get  them,  particu- 
larly the  knives  and  forks,  for  we  had  been  drinking  bran 
coffee,  and  were  using  wooden  knives  and  forks  we  had 
made  ourselves.  Those  were  hard  times  in  Goliad  county 
during  the  Civil  War,  and  when  the  internecine  strife  ended 
the  soldiers  came  home  broke  and  all  anxious  to  make  up 
the  time  that  had  been  lost  during  the  four  years  that  had 
passed.  Reconstruction  set  in.  Some  outlaws  and  crooks 
drifted  into  our  country;  considerable  friction  and  hatred  ex- 
isted between  the  boys  of  the  blue  and  the  gray;  negro  sol- 
diers were  stationed  at  different  points  to  keep  order,  but 
it  soon  resulted  in  serious  clashes  that  called  for  more  Texas 
Rangers  and  United  States  marshalls.  As  is  usually  the  case, 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


389 


right  and  justice  finally  prevailed.  During  this  time  our  stock- 
men  were  hunting  markets  for  the  cattle  on  our  overstocked 
ranges.  We  sold  a few  steers  to  Foster  & Allen,  Shanghai 
Pierce  and  Joel  Collins,  which  were  shipped  from  Powder 
Horn.  Slaughter  houses  at  Rockport  killed  considerable 
beeves  at  the  time,  but  we  needed  a greater  outlet  for  the 
ever-increasing  herds  on  the  ranges. 

My  father  drove  a herd  from  Goliad  to  New  Orleans  in 
1867,  swam  all  the  streams  and  bayous,  and  through  the 
exposure  he  contracted  rheumatism  from  which  he  suffered 
until  his  death,  which  occurred  at  Saunders’  Station,  near 
San  Antonio,  in  1904.  Mother  died  at  same  place  in  1893. 
Father  was  born  at  Fayetteville,  North  Carolina,  and  mother 
was  born  at  Birmingham,  Alabama.  Besides  the  brothers  I 
have  mentioned  elsewhere  in  this  sketch,  I have  three  sisters 
living,  Mrs.  F.  L.  Henry,  wife  of  a prominent  McMullen  county 
stockman,  and  Misses  Nancy  and  Ann  Saunders,  all  of  whom 
live  near  Christine,  Texas. 

In  1868  or  1869  a few  stockmen  drove  small  herds  to  Bax- 
ter Springs,  Kansas,  or  other  northern  points  and  met  with  such 
success  that  everybody  had  caught  the  trail  fever.  My  two 
brothers,  Mat  and  Jack,  took  a herd  to  Baxter  Springs  in  1870, 
and  their  reports  of  thrilling  encounters  with  the  Indians,  stam- 
pedes, buffalo  chases,  and  the  like  filled  me  with  a wild  desire 
to  go  on  the  trail  too.  I was  barely  seventeen  years  old,  and 
felt  that  I was  able  to  take  care  of  myself  on  a long  trip  as 
well  as  any  man.  My  parents  finally  consented  for  me  to 
go,  and  I hired  to  Monroe  Choate,  of  the  firm  of  Choate  & 
Bennett,  to  go  with  a herd.  The  firm  was  receiving  herds  in 
different  parts  of  the  country,  to  send  up  the  trail.  They 
sent  fourteen  herds  that  year.  Mr.  Choate  told  me  the 
name  of  the  boss  of  each  herd  and  aasked  me  which  boss  I 
would  rather  go  with.  I told  him  I wanted  to  go  with  the 
first  herd  that  started,  and  he  informed  me  that  Jim  Byler 
would  boss  the  first  herd  and  would  start  at  once.  That 
suited  me  fine,  so  I said,  “Put  me  with  Byler.”  Mr.  Byler 
was  asked  what  he  thought  about  taking  a sevventeen-year- 
old  kid  on  the  trip  and  remarked,  “His  age  is  all  right,,  if  he 
has  staying  qualities,  but  most  kids  are  short  on  sleep,  and 


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THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


generally  sleep  on  watch.”  I told  him  I would  not  sleep  dur- 
ing stampedes  or  Indian  fights,  and  he  promised  to  give  me 
a trial,  and  that  made  me  exceedingly  happy. 

We  left  Helena  with  a full  chuck  wagon,  the  necessary- 
number  of  horses  and  men,  and  went  to  the  Mays  pasture 
on  the  Cibolo  near  Stockdale,  Wilson  county,  and  received  a 
thousand  steers.  Dunk  Choate  counted  the  cattle  and  Mr. 
Byler  pointed  the  herd  north  and  Dunk  said,  “Adios,  boys, 
I will  see  you  in  Abilene,  Kansas.  I must  go  now  and  start 
other  herds.” 

We  went  by  Gonzales,  Lockhart,  Austin  and  Georgetown, 
without  any  unusual  happenings,  but  on  the  Gabriel  we  had 
a bad  stampede  during  a thunderstorm,  and  the  herd  was  split 
up  into  several  bunches.  They  were  all  found  the  next  day. 
Some  of  the  bunches  had  men  with  them  and  some  did  not. 
They  were  all  trailed  and  found  except  me  and  seventy-five 
steers.  By  ten  o’clock  the  boss  finally  located  the  trail  of 
my  bunch  and  found  it  ten  miles  down  the  Gabriel.  When 
he  rode  up,  he  asked,  ‘‘Are  you  awake?  Why  didn’t  you 
bring  these  cattle  back  to  the  herd?”  I said  1 could  not 
find  the  trail  the  steers  made  and  I did  not  know  what  di- 
rection to  go  to  find  the  herd.  We  got  back  to  the  main 
herd  about  four  o’clock  in  the  evening,  and  I was  so  tired 
and  sleepy  1 told  the  boss  I was  just  bound  to  eat  and  sleep 
a little.  He  said,  “Go  eat  and  sleep  all  night,  1 will  herd 
your  relief.  You  deserve  a rest.”  This  sounded  good  to  me, 
for  up  to  this  time  I thought  the  boss  was  mad. 

After  a good  night’s  rest  1 was  on  the  job  early  the  next 
morning,  ready  to  do  my  share  in  keeping  the  herd  on  the 
move.  The  cattle  were  easily  scared  and  for  several  days 
were  very  nervous  and  made  many  runs,  but  the  boys  kept 
strict  watch  on  them  and  they  finally  became  reconciled.  We 
went  by  Waco,  Cleburne  and  Fort  Worth.  Between  the  last 
named  places  the  country  was  somewhat  level  and  untim- 
bered, and  was  full  of  prairie  chickens  and  deer.  When  we 
reached  Fort  Worth  we  crossed  the  Trinity  River  under  the 
bluff  where  the  present  street  car  line  to  the  stock  yards 
crosses  the  river.  Fort  Worth  was  then  but  a very  small 
place,  consisting  of  only  a few  stores,  and  there  was  only 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


391 


one  house  in  that  part  of  the  town  where  the  stock  yards 
are  now  located.  We  held  our  herd  here  two  days,  finally 
proceeding  on  our  journey  and  crossed  Red  River  at  Red 
River  Station  and  took  the  Chisholm  Trail  through  the  In- 
dian Territory.  Here  we  saw  lots  of  Indians,  who  came  to 
our  herd  with  the  usual  greeting,  “how  John,”  to  beg  to- 
bacco, and  provisions.  Byler  got  by  these  Indians  without 
any  trouble,  but  we  found  all  the  streams  in  that  region 
up  and  had  to  swim  them  or  lose  time,  for  Byler  wanted 
to  keep  the  lead,  and  we  therefore  crossed  many  rivers  at  a 
time  when  other  men  would  have  hesitated. 

At  Pond  Creek  we  encountered  our  first  buffalo.  The 
plains  were  literally  covered  with  these  animals,  and  when 
we  came  in  sight  of  them  all  of  the  boys  quit  the  herd  and 
gave  chase.  It  was  a wonderful  sight  to  see  these  cow- 
boys dashing  after  those  big  husky  monsters,  shooting  at 
them  from  all  angles.  We  soon  learned  that  it  did  no  good 
to  shoot  them  in  the  forehead,  as  we  were  accustomed  to 
shooting  beeves  with  our  pistols,  for  the  bullets  would  not 
penetrate  their  skull.  We  would  dash  by  them  and  shoot 
them  between  the  eyes  without  apparent  effect,  so  we 
began  shooting  them  behind  the  shoulder  and  that  brought 
them  down.  I killed  two  or  three  of  the  grown  buffaloes 
and  roped  a yearling  which  I was  glad  to  turn  loose  and 
let  him  get  away  with  a good  rope.  I soon  became  satis- 
fied with  the  excitement  incident  to  killing  buffalo,  swimming 
streams,  being  in  stampedes,  ’ and  passing  through  thunder 
storms,  but  I still  longed  to  be  mixed  up  in  an  Indian  fight, 
for  I had  not  yet  had  that  sort  of  experience. 

We  crossed  Bluff  Creek  into  Kansas,  and  passed  Newton 
during  the  latter  part  of  May.  A blacksmith  shop,  a store, 
and  about  a dozen  dwellings  made  up  this  town  at  the  time, 
but  when  we  came  back  through  the  place  on  our  return  home 
thirty  days  later,  it  had  grown  to  be  quite  a large  town,  due 
to  the  building  of  a railroad.  It  did  not  seem  possible  that 
a town  could  make  such  quick  growth  in  such  short  time,  but 
Newton,  Kansas,  sprang  up  almost  overnight. 

We  stopped  our  herd  on  Holland  Creek,  twenty  miles  from 
Abilene,  Kansas,  where  we  were  met  by  Pink  Bennett  and  a 


392 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


buyer.  Pink  sold  300  fat  beeves  out  of  our  herd  to  this 
man,  and  I went  to  Abilene  with  them  to  help  load  them  on 
the  cars.  They  were  the  first  cattle  I had  ever  seen  loaded 
on  a train,  and  I was  anxious  to  see  how  it  was  done. 

We  held  our  herd  there  until  several  more  herds  belonging 
to  Choate  & Bennett  arrived.  They  sold  some  out  of  each 
herd,  and  we  soon  had  a surplus  of  men  and  horses.  W. 
G.  Butler  had  done  likewise  and  he  also  had  too  many  men 
and  horses  to  continue  on  with  the  cattle,  so  it  was  arranged 
that  some  of  us  could  start  home,  and  accordingly  about  fifty 
men,  with  five  chuck  wagons,  five  cooks,  and  about  1 5 0 
horses  hit  the  back  trail  for  Texas.  We  had  a lively  time 
en  route  home,  for  we  had  nothing  to  do  but  drive  the 
horses,  make  camp,  eat  and  sometimes  sleep.  When  we 
reached  the  Washita  River  we  found  it  out  of  its  banks.  We 
cut  timber  and  made  a raft  by  tying  the  logs  with  ropes,  but 
could  not  ferry  the  rude  craft  until  a rope  had  been 
stretched  across  the  river,  which  was  some  300  yards  wide 
and  very  swift  and  deep.  Several  of  the  boys  attempted  to 
make  it  across  with  the  end  of  a rope,  but  each  one  failed. 
Some  of  them  got  half  way  across,  turned  the  rope  loose  and 
swam  back.  One  of  them  got  near  the  opposite  bank,  but 
lost  the  end  of  the  rope,  and  landed  without  it.  I was  the 
fifth  one  to  try  this  difficult  feat,  and  determined  to  suc- 
ceed, so  taking  one  end  of  the  rope  in  my  mouth,  passing 
it  over  my  shoulder,  I entered  the  water,  the  boys  on  the 
bank  releasing  the  rope  gradually  as  I swam  out,  and  I made 
it  across.  When  I neared  the  opposite  side  I was  almost  ex- 
hausted, but  grasped  an  overhanging  willow  limb  and  pulled 
myself  ashore  with  the  rope  still  in  my  mouth.  The  man 
who  had  preceded  me  across  came  to  my  assistance  and 
helped  me  up  the  slippery  bank,  then  there  was  a cowboy 
yell  of  approval  from  the  other  side  as  the  boys  realized 
that  I had  succeeded  in  accomplishing  a dangerous  feat.  I 
felt  very  proud  of  myself,  and  think  I added  several  inches  to 
my  stature  right  there,  for  I was  only  seventeen  years  old, 
and  had  succeeded  in  an  undertaking  in  which  four  stalwart 
men  had  failed,  but  I am  willing  to  confess  I could  not  have 
gone  ten  feet  further  in  my  exhausted  condition. 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


393 


We  soon  put  our  outfits  across  with  the  raft,  but  lost 
the  hind  wheels  of  one  of  Butler’s  wagons.  We  carried  the 
wagon  beds  over  on  the  raft,  but  pulled  the  wagons  across 
with  ropes,  in  the  same  manner  as  we  ferried  the  raft.  It  was 
clumsy  work,  for  we  had  to  draw  the  wagons  and  effects  up 
a steep  slippery  embankment,  and  this  required  a great  deal 
of  time,  patience  and  profanity.  When  we  got  everything 
across,  we  rigged  up  our  outfit  and  resumed  our  journey.  I 
know  of  only  three  men  living  today  who  were  on  this  trip 
back  to  Texas,  they  being  Ben  Borroum,  now  of  Del  Rio, 
Texas,  Louis  Massengale  and  Jess  Little,  who  live  some- 
where in  South  Texas. 

We  crossed  Red  River  opposite  Denison,  rode  into  town, 
and  visited  all  of  the  stores  and  saloons.  The  people  there 
were  glad  to  see  us  come  and  glad  to  see  us  leave.  Our 
next  town  was  Denton,  where  the  officers  demanded  our  pis- 
tols. The  law  prohibiting  the  carrying  of  pistols  had  been 
enacted  only  a short  time  before  and  was  then  in  effect,  but 
we  could  not  think  of  parting  with  our  life-long  friends,  so 
when  a demand  was  made  for  us  to  surrender  them  we  pulled 
our  pistols  and  rode  out  of  town  shooting  into  the  air.  The 
officers  did  not  follow  us.. 

We  stopped  at  Fort  Worth  and  all  the  other  towns  on  our 
route,  as  we  leisurely  traveled  homeward,  finally  reaching  our 
destination  safely.  I was  mighty  proud  of  this  my  first  trip, 
and  reached  home  with  a pair  of  shop-made  boots  and  two 
good  suits  of  clothes,  one  of  which  was  a black  changeable 
velvet  affair  that  I had  paid  fifty  dollars  for  in  Kansas.  I 
carried  these  clothes  in  a pair  of  saddle  bags  all  the  way 
home,  and  found  after  I reached  there  that  I could  have  pur- 
chased them  cheaper  from  a local  merchant.  But  little  did 
I care,  for  1 was  determined  to  “cut  a shine”  with  the  girls 
when  I got  back  off  that  notable  trip. 

Referring  back  to  some  of  the  incidents  that  occurred  on 
the  trip  I can  recall  several  amusing  things  that  happened. 
The  prairies  near  Abilene,  Kansas,  where  we  held  our  herds, 
were  partly  taken  up  by  grangers  who  lived  in  dug-outs,  a 
square  hole  in  the  ground  or  on  the  side  of  a bluff,  with 
timbers  placed  across  and  covered  with  dirt.  Each  granger 


394 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


had  taken  up  about  160  acres  of  land,  part  of  which  was 
cultivated.  They  had  no  fences,  so  to  mark  the  boundaries  of 
their  homestead  they  would  plow  a furrow  around  it.  As 
there  was  no  timber  in  the  country,  except  a few  cotton- 
woods which  grew  along  the  streams,  the  grangers  were 
compelled  to  use  buffalo  chips  for  fuel.  While  we  were 
there  with  our  herds,  many  other  herds  came  in  and  the 
whole  prairie  was  covered  with  cattle  for  many  miles  around. 
I visited  lots  of  camps  and  met  many  old  friends  from  Texas. 
Buyers  were  plentiful,  cattle  sold  fast,  and  the  grangers  were 
active  among  the  herds  asking  the  cattlemen  to  bed  cattle 
on  their  lands  so  they  could  get  the  chips  for  fuel.  One 
evening  I noticed  several  men  and  women  in  buggies  and 
buckboards  going  to  different  herds  and  begging  each  boss  to 
bed  his  herd  on  their  respective  lands.  They  soon  got  into 
a “squabble”  with  each  other,  claiming  they  had  asked  a 
certain  boss  first,  and  this  caused  the  cowboys  to  congregate 
around  to  see  the  fun  and  encourage  the  row.  Levi  Ander- 
son wais  the  boss  in  question,  and  they  all  claimed  he  had 
promised  to  bed  cattle  on  their  land.  Levi  was  puzzled,  for 
he  was  not  used  to  the  customs  of  that  country,  and  said 
the  reason  he  had  promised  was  because  he  thought  they 
were  all  joking.  He  said  those  dug-out  people  were  somewhat 
different  from  the  folks  where  he  lived,  remarking  that 
“Down  in  Texas  if  you  gave  a man  dry  dung  he  would 
fight  you,  but  here  in  Kansas  they  will  fight  you  for  dry 
dung.”  The  grangers  figured  that  1000  cattle  would  leave 
enough  chips  on  the  ground  in  one  night  to  give  them  500 
pounds  of  dry  fuel  in  a few  days. 

Ben  Borroum  and  I were  herding  together  one  day,  and  as 
all  of  the  cattle  were  in  sight  we  did  not  notice  that  they 
had  gotten  on  a small  patch  of  corn  just  coming  up,  until 
they  had  pawed  and  trampled  the  corn,  crushed  twenty  little 
chickens  to  death  and  ran  all  of  the  family  into  the  dug-out. 
This  negligence  on  our  part  cost  Choate  & Bennett  about 
$100. 

Jack  Potter  once  told  me  that  while  he  was  up  in  this 
part  of  Kansas  he  got  lost  from  his  outfit  one  night  and  rode 
up  to  one  of  these  dug-outs  and  asked  if  he  could  stop  with 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


395 


them  until  morning.  The  granger  told  him  he  was  welcome 
to  do  so,  although  their  accommodations  were  very  limited. 
They  fed  his  horse  for  him,  and  then  invited  him  down  into 
the  dug-out  which  contained  one  room  about  sixteen  feet 
square,  but  as  neat  as  could  be.  In  this  room  there  was  a 
nice  clean  bed,  one  table,  four  chairs,  a stove,  cooking  uten- 
sils, the  man,  his  wife  and  two  small  boys.  The  wife  soon 
prepared  a good  supper  for  Jack,  and  after  he  had  eaten  they 
sat  up  and  talked  to  him  for  quite  a while,  during  which  time 
the  little  boys  fell  asleep  on  the  bed,  while  the  parents,  who 
seemed  to  be  a very  intelligent  couple,  told  Jack  about 
themselves  and  their  plans.  They  were  enthusiastic  over  the 
prospects  to  make  a fortune  in  that  new  country,  and  talked 
about  everything  in  general,  but  all  this  time  Jack  was 
puzzling  his  brain  over  how  all  of  them  were  going  to  sleep 
on  the  one  bed  in  that  dug-out.  Finally  the  mother  picked 
up  the  two  boys  and  sat  them  over  in  a corner,  leaning  them 
against  the  wall  still  asleep,  and  then  she  informed  Jack  that 
he  could  occupy  the  bed,  and  she  and  her  husband  went  up 
the  steps.  Potter  turned  in  and  was  soon  asleep,  and  slept 
soundly  all  night  long,  but  when  he  awoke  the  next  morning 
he  found  himself  sitting  in  the  corner  with  the  two  little 
boys  and  the  man  and  woman  were  occupying  the  bed.  Jack 
told  me  he  knew  that  couple  was  just  bound  to  prosper  any- 
where, even  in  Kansas.  After  breakfast  he  gave  them  five  dol- 
lars, but  they  protested,  saying  that  fifty  cents  was  enough  to 
pay  for  the  poor  accommodations  he  had  received,  but  Jack  in- 
formed them  that  what  he  had  seen  and  learned,  right  there 
was  worth  five  dollars  to  him.  Remember,  this  was  Jack 
Potter,  not  Jim  Wilson. 

1 passed  through  this  same  old  herding  ground  some  twen- 
ty-five years  later,  and  I was  astonished  to  see  the  changes 
that  had  taken  place.  Pretty  farms  and  new  dwellings  cov- 
ered the  whole  region,  and  there  were  fine  herds  of  good 
cattle,  horses,  sheep,  mules  and  hogs  everywhere,  and  the 
whole  country  looked  prosperous. 

After  I reached  home  from  my  first  trip  1 went  to  work 
on  the  range  driving  cattle  to  Rockport  packeries  in  summer 
and  winter  and  putting  up  trail  herds  each  spring,  following 


396 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


this  occupation  for  several  years,  selling  our  family’s  cattle 
to  the  well  known  trail  drivers,  J.  D.  Reed,  Dillard  Fant  and 
others.  Cattle  accumulated  fast  on  the  ranges.  Many  ranches 
were  established,  each  ranch  owner  running  his  own  outfit 
and  exchanging  brands  with  stockmen  in  different  parts  of  the 
state.  The  ranchmen  would  brand  calves  and  sell  beeves  for 
each  other,  then  meet  and  make  settlement  once  a year. 
Such  arrangements  were  made  between  stockmen  from  San 
Antonio  to  Brownsville  and  from  Victoria  to  Laredo.  It  was 
nothing  strange  for  one  man  to  own  cattle  throughout  the 
above-mentioned  territory.  The  cattle  business  gradually 
moved  westward,  forcing  the  redskins  back;  many  of  our 
stockmen  began  buying  pure  bred  bulls,  and  improving  their 
stock.  Among  those  who  first  began  to  grade  up  their  cattle 
were  King  & Kenedy,  Reynolds,  Coleman,  Matthis  & Fulton, 
W.  A.  Pettus,  N.  G.  Collins  and  others.  The  chuck  wallet 
and  pack  horse  disappeared  and  their  places  were  taken  by 
the  chuck  wagon.  Fences  came  and  the  open  range  passed 
away  forever. 

During  those  days  I belonged  to  Uncle  Henry  Scott’s  Min- 
ute Company  for  two  years.  This  company  was  organized  at 
Mission  Refugio  in  1873  to  protect  the  citizens  of  the  border 
against  Mexican  bandits.  During  these  two  years  a number 
of  massacres  were  committed  by  these  bandits,  many  of  whom 
paid  the  penalty  for  their  lawlessness.  Among  the  families 
which  were  murdered  by  the  Mexicans  were  the  Swift  family 
near  Refugio,  John  Maden  near  St.  Mary’s,  the  Nux  family 
and  others  at  Nux  Store,  twelve  miles  west  of  Corpus  Christi; 
Lee  Rabb,  the  Penescal  family  and  others  whose  names  I 
cannot  recall.  When  our  company  was  called  out  for  duty 
we  went  at  a moment’s  notice,  regardless  of  what  we  were 
doing  or  where  we  were,  and  we  rode  with  such  vengeance 
that  our  company  soon  became  a terror  to  the  invading 
murderous  Mexicans. 

For  one  year  I was  a deputy  under  Sheriff  James  Burk 
of  Goliad,  during  which  time  1 had  some  very  narrow  es- 
capes and  made  many  dangerous  arrests  of  desperate  char- 
acters. 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


397 


For  a few  years  after  the  war  there  was  a woman  in  that 
region  by  the  name  of  Sally  Skull,  who  was  quite  a char- 
acter. She  traded  horses  through  our  country,  and  operated 
alone,  with  a band  of  Mexican  helpers,  from  Texas  into 
Mexico,  and  had  a record  of  being  the  most  fearless  woman 
ever  known.  Nearly  all  of  the  old  citizens  of  that  section 
remember  Sally  Skull. 

In  those  early  days  cattle  buyers  usually  met  the  sellers 
at  some  appointed  place  to  close  a deal  for  stock,  and  they 
would  bring  the  purchase  money  in  gold  and  silver  in  sacks 
on  the  backs  of  pack  horses.  When  they  reached  the  meet- 
ing places  the  sacks  of  money  would  be  carelessly  dumped  on 
the  ground  where  sometimes  it  would  remain  for  two  or 
three  days  without  molestation,  then  when  settlement  was 
made  for  cattle  bought  the  sacks  were  opened,  the  money 
dumped  out  on  a blanket  in  camp,  and  counted  out  to  each 
man  who  had  participated  in  the  trades.  I fear  that  kind 
of  an  arrangement  would  not  work  today,  but  in  those 
days  those  rugged  pioneers  dealt  strictly  on  the  square. 

Pasture  fencing  commenced  on  the  coast  in  1872-3,  and 
in  a few  years  each  cattleman  had  a pasture  of  from  1000 
to  50,000  acres,  which  stopped  the  exchanging  of  brands, 
for  before  a great  while  every  man  had  his  cattle  in  his  own 
pasture  and  ran  his  own  cow  outfit.  Space  will  not  permit 
mention  of  the  cattle  stealing,  fence-cutting,  trouble  between 
cattlemen  and  others,  which  called  for  the  assistance  of  Texas 
Rangers  and  United  States  Marshalls,  with  whose  aid  the  cat- 
tlemen established  law  and  order.  With  the  organization  of 
the  Cattle  Raisers’  Association  a few  years  later  the  doom  of 
the  cattle  and  horse  thief  was  sealed,  for  the  organization 
soon  grew  to  such  proportions,  with  its  expert  inspectors  at 
all  markets  and  shipping  points,  that  it  made  it  almost  im- 
possible for  a thief  to  exist. 

In  1874  I was  married  to  Miss  Rachel  Reeves,  who  was 
the  daughter  of  W.  M.  Reeves,  a well  known  stockman  of 
Refugio  county.  We  began  housekeeping  on  my  ranch  eight 
miles  from  Goliad,  where  the  present  railroad  station,  Clip, 
is  now  located.  I later  sold  this  ranch  to  W.  A.  Pettus, 
(better  known  as  Buck  Pettus)  one  of  the  most  prosperous 


398 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


stockmen  of  Goliad  county,  and  years  later  when  the  rail- 
road was  built  from  Beeville  to  Goliad  it  went  across  my 
old  ranch  and  the  station  was  named  Clip  in  honor  of  Mrs. 
Pettus,  whose  maiden  name  was  Miss  Clip  Lott. 

In  1880  my  wife’s  health  failed  and  I took  her  to  San 
Antonio  for  treatment,  and  as  I had  to  be  near  her  I could 
not  follow  my  work  as  a stockman,  so  decided  to  get  into 
some  line  of  business  in  San  Antonio  to  make  a living  in  the 
big  city.  I finally  bought  several  hacks  and  teams  and  ran 
them  day  and  night,  carrying  passengers  over  the  city.  The 
1.  & G.  N.  and  the  S.  P.  railroads  were  just  building  into  San 
Antonio,  the  city  was  flourishing  and  full  of  prospectors  and 
stockmen.  As  I was  acquainted  with  many  of  the  visitors, 
mostly  stockmen,  I did  a thriving  business. 

My  wife  died  in  January,  1883,  and  the  following  March  1 
sold  out  my  business,  carried  my  two  little  girls  to  the  home 
of  my  parents  in  Goliad  county,  then  returned  to  San  An- 
tonio and  bought  300  Spanish  mares  which  I shipped  to 
Vinita,  Indian  Territory,  and  drove  from  there  through  East- 
ern Kansas,  selling  a few  and  paying  fines  for  damage  they 
did  to  unfenced  fields  along  the  way.  I shipped  from  Spring- 
field  to  Hannibal,  Mo.,  where  I decided  to  try  to  dispose  of 
all  of  these  mares.  At  this  place  I advertised  “Wild  Texas 
Ponies  for  Sale  at  Wm.  L.  Fry’s  Stables,  with  an  Exhibition 
of  Roping  and  Riding  Wild  Horses.”  I put  my  stock  in  a 
large  lot  adjoining  the  stable  on  the  morning  of  the  sale, 
and  everybody  in  the  town  was  there  to  see  them,  all  anx- 
ious to  witness  the  bronco  busting.  1 mounted  a dry  goods  box 
and  announced  that  these  horses  were  for  sale  and  invited 
buyers  to  come  forward  and  select  the  mares  they  wanted, 
and  in  order  to  hold  the  crowd  I told  them  the  bronco-riding 
would  be  the  last  act  of  the  show,  but  that  they  would  not 
be  disappointed.  Quite  a number  bought  horses,  and  as  each 
animal  was  sold  two  of  my  expert  cowboys  would  lasso  it, 
and  hold  it  by  the  jaw  and  ears  until  a hackamore  was  se- 
curely placed  on  its  head,  then  it  was  led  through  a gate  and 
delivered  to  the  buyer,  who  in  turn  employed  negroes  to  take 
it  home  for  him.  We  kept  this  up  all  morning,  when  word 
was  passed  around  that  all  of  the  horses  that  had  been  sold 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


399 


AB.  BLOCKER 


BOB  LAUTERDALE 


MARION  McBEE 


C.  C.  LINCECUM 


400 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


were  running  loose  in  the  town  and  surrounding  county  with 
ropes  dragging.  It  seems  that  the  negroes  who  had  under- 
taken to  lead  the  horses  away,  in  each  instance  did  not  under- 
stand how  to  handle  these  broncos,  and  they  would  get 
away.  One  negro  said  it  would  take  a long  time  to  learn 
the  nature  of  such  horses,  for  they  would  lay  down  and  kick 
and  paw  all  of  the  rope  around  their  bodies  and  legs  and 
leave  him  nothing  to  hold  to  and  he  just  had  to  let  go  the 
rope.  The  buyers  were  good  natured  and  did  not  blame 
me  in  the  least.  I sold  fifty  head  of  the  mares  here,  at  good 
prices,  and  when  the  buying  slacked  up,  I roped  an  outlaw 
horse,  saddled  him  wild  west  fashion,  and  Anderson  More- 
land, one  of  my  cowboys  mounted  him.  This  horse  was  a 
professional  and  on  that  occasion  he  did  full  credit  to  his 
past  reputation,  to  the  great  delight  and  enthusiasm  of  the 
crowd  of  spectators.  When  we  drove  our  herd  out  of 
town  several  of  the  citizens  went  with  us  for  several  miles. 
From  here  we  drove  them  to  Pittsfield,  Illinois,  selling  and 
trading  as  we  went,  finally  disposing  of  all  of  our  Texas 
horses,  but  we  still  had  about  twenty  large  native  horses  that 
we  had  taken  in  exchange.  We  shipped  these  by  boat  down 
the  Illinois  River  to  St.  Louis.  This  was  our  first  boat  ride, 
and  was  greatly  enjoyed  by  myself  and  my  companions.  We 
sold  out  at  St.  Louis  and  came  home  by  train. 

After  returning  to  Texas  I bought  150  saddle  horses  or 
cow  ponies  and  shipped  them  to  Wichita  Falls,  then  the  ter- 
minus of  the  Fort  Worth  & Denver  Railroad.  From  this 
point  we  drove  them  to  Tascosa  on  the  Canadian  River  above 
the  LIT  Ranch,  where  I sold  them  to  Will  Hughes  at  a big 
profit.  After  the  sale  was  made  we  went  to  the  ranch  house 
together,  and  there  I discovered  that  Hughes  and  I were  boys 
together  at  Goliad,  but  his  Goliad  name  was  not  Hughes. 

When  I returned  to  San  Antonio  Harry  Fawcett  and  my- 
self bought  the  Narcisso  Leal  livestock  commission  business, 
with  offices  and  stables  opposite  the  Southern  Hotel  on  Dolo- 
rosa Street.  We  put  up  our  sign  in  September,  1883,  and 
our  business  thrived  from  the  very  start;  we  sold  horses  by 
thousands  on  commission  for  parties  who  drove  to  the  San 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


401 


Antonio  market  from  South  Texas  and  Mexico.  During  the 
fall  and  winter  we  bought  considerable  horse  stock  ourselves, 
which  we  sent  to  the  Bluntzer  pasture  near  San  Patricio  and 
also  to  the  Tobey  pasture  in  Atascosa  county,  expecting  to 
sell  them  the  next  spring  to  trail  drivers.  Not  being  able  to 
get  as  much  for  them  as  we  thought  they  were  worth,  we 
decided  to  drive  these  horses  up  the  trail  ourselves,  so  we 
sold  our  commission  business  back  to  Leal,  gathered  our 
horses,  brought  them  to  San  Antonio  and  for  several  days 
held  them  on  Prospect  Hill,  which  is  now  in  the  city  limits. 
On  April  5th,  1884,  we  loaded  our  chuck  wagon  and  hit  the 
trail  for  Dodge  City,  Kansas.  We  went  by  Kerrville  and 
Junction  City  following  what  was  then  known  as  the  Upper 
or  Western  Trail.  At  Seymour  we  crossed  the  Brazos,  and 
at  Doan’s  Store  we  crossed  Red  River.  I will  not  attempt  to 
describe  the  trouble  we  had  on  this  trip  with  Indians,  stam- 
pedes, and  swollen  streams,  as  other  sketches  in  this  book 
have  treated  those  subjects  with  full  justice.  There  were 
many  herds  on  the  trail  that  year,  and  we  wanted  to  keep 
in  the  lead,  but  to  do  so  required  systematic  work,  so  1 kept 
my  herd  moving  forward  all  the  time.  I would  go  on  ahead 
and  select  herding  ground  for  nights  and  grazing  grounds  for 
nooning,  grazed  the  horses  up  to  these  grounds  and  grazed  or 
drove  them  off,  never  allowing  them  to  graze  back  at  all, 
for  in  this  way  I gained  a great  deal  of  valuable  time,  for  1 
had  learned  that  good  time  and  lots  of  it  was  lost  by  the 
old  way  of  stopping  a herd  and  allowing  it  to  graze  in  every 
direction,  sometimes  a mile  or  more  on  the  back  trail.  In 
such  cases  the  stock  would  travel  over  the  same  ground 
twice,  which,  in  the  long  run  would  amount  to  considerable 
mileage  when  you  consider  that  the  distance  from  Texas  to 
the  markets  was  from  1000  to  1500  miles.  Good  trail 
bosses  who  made  quick  time  with  stock  in  good  shape  were 
always  in  demand.  Ab  Blocker,  Gus  Black,  Mac  Stewart, 
Fayette  Butler,  Pleas  Butler,  Jim  Byler,  Sim  Holstein,  Henry 
Clair,  Jones  Glenn,  Jesse  McCoy,  Bob  Jennings  and  Bob  Lau- 
terdale  were  all  record-breakers  in  taking  herds  through  in 
quick  time  and  fine  shape,  but  Ab  Blocker  claims  the  blue 
ribbon. 


402 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


We  reached  Dodge  City  minus  a few  horses  which  were 
lost  on  the  trail  but  they  were  brought  up  by  other  herds  and 
delivered  to  me  at  this  point.  One  night  while  we  were 
there  a storm  came  up  and  caused  several  herds  to  stampede 
and  there  were  about  15,000  horses  mixed  up.  Two  men 
were  killed  by  lightning  that  night.  It  took  several  days 
to  gather  and  separate  the  horses.  Several  outfits  from  dif- 
ferent parts  of  Texas  gave  the  same  road  brand  and  this 
caused  no  end  of  trouble.  Mr.  Fawcett,  my  partner,  had 
come  up  to  Dodge  City  by  train,  and  was  present  during  the 
big  stampede  which  he  thought  was  great  sport.  He  said  he 
would  buy  the  leaders  if  we  could  pick  them  out,  as  he 
wanted  to  ship  them  to  England  to  show  the  chaps  over 
there  what  a running  horse  was  like,  and  if  he  could  ever 
get  the  blooming  rascals  gentle  he  would  run  foxes  on  them. 

Just  before  we  started  this  herd  up  the  trail  Harry  Hotch- 
kiss, who  is  now  manager  for  the  Houston  Packing  Co.,  ar- 
rived in  San  Antonio  from  England,  and  helped  us  to  get  our 
herd  together.  Harry  was  an  old  friend  to  Mr.  Fawcett  and 
was  so  delighted  with  the  prospect  of  getting  into  the  horse 
business  that  he  bought  too  head  and  put  them  into  our 
herd.  He  made  a good  hand  from  the  very  start  and  was 
of  great  assistance  to  me  on  the  trail.  We  had  told  him  we 
expected  to  make  $15  to  $20  per  head  profit  on  our  horses 
when  we  sold  them  up  the  trail,  and  he  was  looking  forward 
to  making  a neat  sum  on  his  investment.  One  night  while 
we  were  camped  in  a rough  region  between  the  Saline  and 
the  San  Saba  River,  west  of  Maberry’s  pasture,  our  herd 
stampeded  during  a storm.  I had  told  the  boys  on  first  re- 
lief not  to  attempt  to  hold  the  herd  if  they  stampeded  as 
the  country  was  too  broken  and  that  I would  rather  trail  the 
horses  the  next  day  than  to  take  any  chances  of  some  of 
my  men  getting  killed.  The  boys  all  came  to  camp  and  at 
daybreak  the  next  morning  we  were  all  ready  to  start 
cutting  sign.  In  a few  hours  we  rounded  up  most  of  them, 
while  Hotchkiss  was  holding  the  herd  and  counting  his 
horses  as  they  came  in  in  each  bunch.  1 brought  in  several 
bunches,  and  each  time  Hotchkiss  would  come  to  me  and 
want  to  know  if  I thought  he  would  ever  get  all  of  his 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


403 


horses  back.  I would  tell  him  1 did  not  have  time  to 
talk  to  him  for  I was  in  a hurry  to  go  after  other  bunches. 
The  herd  was  pretty  badly  scattered,  and  had  left  plain  trails 
in  every  direction.  Some  were  followed  for  ten  or  fifteen 
miles  before  they  were  overtaken  and  brought  back.  This 
required  fast  work  by  all  of  us,  for  we  had  to  gather  them 
before  they  could  mix  with  other  range  horses  and  be  lost 
entirely.  I brought  a bunch  into  the  herd  about  two  o’clock, 
and  found  we  were  still  about  200  head  short.  Hotchkiss 
rushed  up  and  commanded  me  to  stop  and  explain  to  him 
how  1 could  figure  $15  or  $20  per  head  profit  for  him  on  his 
horses  when  half  of  them  were  gone  on  the  first  ten  days 
out,  adding  that  it  was  a “blawsted  rotten  misrepresentation,” 
and  that  Fawcett  and  I must  make  it  good.  I told  him  not 
to  worry,  that  we  would  get  them  all  back,  and  as  1 left  him 
he  was  cussing  and  cavorting  around  in  great  fashion;  in 
truth  he  was  about  the  maddest  man  I ever  saw.  In  a little 
while  I met  some  of  the  boys  with  about  twenty  of  Hotch- 
kiss’ horses  in  the  bunch  they  were  bringing  in  and  I told 
them  to  assure  him  that  he  would  get  all  of  them  back  before 
night  for  he  was  in  great  suspense  and  needed  consolation.  By 
5 o’clock  that  evening  we  had  recovered  all  of  our  horses 
and  Hotchkiss  was  a happy  boy.  Ten  men  riding  at  full 
speed  all  day,  changing  horses  each  time  they  brought  in  a 
bunch,  accomplished  a wonderful  work  that  day. 

We  had  another  Englishman  in  our  outfit  on  that  trip; 
who  was  also  a tenderfoot,  and  fresh  from  England.  His 
name  was  Lambert,  and  he  had  begged  to  be  permitted  to  go 
with  us,  agreeing  to  furnish  four  horses,  and  help  us  free  of 
charge  as  he  wanted  to  learn  to  be  a bronco  buster.  He 
was  game  and  would  undertake  anything  he  was  told  to  do. 
He  insisted  that  he  be  allowed  to  do  night  herding,  and  when 
given  the  work,  went  to  sleep,  his  horse  drifted  into  the  herd 
and  he  fell  off,  causing  a stampede.  After  that  I set  him 
free  to  go  and  come  as  he  pleased.  He  would  visit  other 
herds  in  front  and  behind  us,  getting  all  the  news,  so  we 
called  him  our  reporter.  My  Mexican  hands  were  riding  wild 
horses  when  in  open  country  and  during  good  weather.  Lam- 
bert begged  me  constantly  to  let  him  ride  a bucking  horse, 


404 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


so  one  day  at  noon,  while  we  were  camped  in  a beautiful  prai- 
rie country,  I had  the  boys  to  rope  the  worst  bucking  horse 
in  the  herd,  saddle  him,  tie  the  stirrups,  and  fix  a roll  in  front 
of  the  saddle.  Then  I mounted  a well  reined  horse,  took 
firm  hold  on  the  rope  attached  to  the  bronco’s  hackamore, 
while  Lambert  was  assisted  to  get  on.  As  soon  as  all  was 
ready  I gave  the  bucker  slack  enough  to  get  his  head  down. 
Lambert  was  eager  to  show  what  he  thought  he  could  do  and 
said  to  the  horse,  “Gaddup,  old  chap,  I’ve  rode  worse  ’orses 
than  you.”  But  “old  Chap”  did  not  move,  just  stood  there 
all  humped  up.  I told  Lambert  to  hit  him  over  the  head  with 
his  hat  as  the  other  boys  did  bucking  horses.  He  took  his 
big  hat  in  hand,  reached  forward  and  brought  it  down  be- 
tween the  horse’s  ears.  At  the  same  instant  the  horse  and 
the  Englishman  went  straight  up  in  the  air  with  their  heads 
toward  the  north,  turned  in  the  air  and  came  down  with  their 
heads  toward  the  south.  Lambert  quit  the  horse  and  hit  the 
ground  running,  yelling  “ ’Old  the  blooming  rascal.  ’E  made 
such  peculiar  movements  I lost  my  balance.”  The  boys  who 
had  bet  on  Lambert  riding  the  horse,  raised  their  bets,  Bill 
Williams  betting  two  to  one  on  the  Englishman,  so  he  tried  it 
again.  That  horse  threw  Lambert  five  times  before  he  gave 
it  up  and  said  if  the  horse  had  a straight  back  he  could  ride 
him,  but  his  back  was  too  crooked  for  him  to  stay  on. 

Lambert  pulled  off  a lot  of  stunts  for  our  amusement  on 
the  trip,  but  decided  that  bronco-busting  was  too  hard  to 
learn.  One  day  he  accidentally  roped  a wild  mare  with  a 
rope  that  was  tied  around  the  neck  of  a little  mule  he  was 
riding.  The  mare  dashed  through  the  herd  and  caused  a 
stampede.  Some  of  the  horses  ran  across  the  rope  and 
threw  mare,  mule  and  Englishman  all  to  the  ground.  When 
the  dust  cleared  Lambert  was  found  holding  the  mule  by  the 
tail  while  the  mule  held  the  mare,  until  the  boys  roped  her 
and  removed  Lambert’s  rope. 

Lambert  was  the  possessor  of  a red  saddle  blanket,  and 
when  we  were  in  the  Comanche  country  the  Indians  got 
friendly  with  our  outfit  and  made  signs  that  they  wanted  that 
red  blanket.  Tel  Hawkins  and  some  of  the  other  boys  told 
the  Indians  to  take  it,  and  when  they  began  to  pull  it  from 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


405 


under  Lambert’s  saddle  he  pulled  his  pistol  and  I rushed  up 
just  in  the  nick  of  time  to  prevent  bloodshed,  for  Lambert 
meant  business. 

While  the  boys  were  trading  and  hurrahing  with  the  In- 
dians I went  to  the  old  Comanche  chief’s  tepee  and  had  quite 
an  enjoyable  conversation  with  him.  He  told  me  he  knew 
all  of  the  region  in  South  and  Southwest  Texas,  named  many 
of  the  streams  and  told  of  raids  he  had  made  down  there.  He 
also  said  he  knew  Creed  Taylor,  Captain  John  Sansom,  John 
R.  Baylor,  Bigfoot  Wallace,  and  other  citizens  of  that  sec- 
tion, who  he  said  were  “Heap  bad  mans.  Killie  heap  In- 
dians,” and  indicated  that  his  warriors  always  dreaded  to  meet 
these  well  known  characters,  for  they  always  “shot  to  kill.” 

In  July,  1884,  I bought  two  cars  of  saddle  horses  and  a 
chuck  wagon  and  shipped  them  from  San  Antonio  to  Alpine 
where  I received  a herd  of  cattle  for  Keeney,  Wiley  & Hurst, 
which  they  had  bought  from  Millett  & Lane.  John  Kokernot 
delivered  this  herd  to  me,  and  I took  them  to  Seven  Rivers, 
New  Mexico,  via  Saragosa,  Pecos  City  and  up  the  Pecos  to 
Seven  Rivers  where  I turned  them  over  to  Mr.  Keeney.  It 
was  a long  dry  drive  and  I was  glad  when  through  with  it. 
After  delivering  this  herd  I went  to  Tat  Huling’s  Ranch  in 
Rattlesnake  Canyon,  35  miles  west  of  Van  Horn  in  El  Paso 
county,  and  remained  there  two  months  helping  Huling  do 
ranch  work,  and  prospecting  for  gold  in  the  Delaware  and 
Guadalupe  Mountains  with  an  old  miner  named  Dyer,  who 
claimed  that  Indians  had  told  him  where  he  could  find  a rich 
mine  near  an  old  Indian  camp.  While  prospecting  we  camped 
at  a spring  where  the  Urcery  boys  of  Oakville,  Texas,  later 
established  a cattle  ranch.  We  searched  through  the  Dela- 
ware Mountains,  going  up  into  the  Guadalupes,  and  came 
back  by  the  salt  lakes.  These  lakes  cover  a territory  fifteen 
miles  long  and  two  or  three  miles  wide  with  salt  three  to 
seven  feet  deep. 

By  appointment  I met  N.  H.  Hall  at  Toyah  in  October. 
He  was  in  quarantine  there  with  several  thousand  head  of 
cattle,  and  was  anxious  to  get  a thousand  two-year-old  heif- 
ers to  his  ranch  in  Luna  Valley,  Arizona,  for  spring  breeding. 
Mr.  Hall  offered  me  extra  big  wages  to  take  them  through, 


406 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


and  as  I had  previously  promised  to  make  the  trip  for  him, 

I consented  to  start  as  soon  as  the  herd  could  be  made  ready. 
The  weather  was  getting  cold,  and  the  route  was  through  a 
dangerous  region  occupied  by  old  Geronimo’s  band  of  Apa- 
ches, and  1 knew  that  I would  have  a hard  trip,  but  I picked 
1000  of  the  best  heifers  in  the  best  condition,  selected  the 
best  horses,  and  secured  the  best  men  I could  find,  all  well 
armed,  and  pulled  out  with  the  herd,  going  by  Cottonwood 
Ranch,  the  Gran  Tinnon  Ranch,  passed  the  head  of  Dela- 
ware River,  Guadalupe  Peak,  and  stopped  several  days  at 
Crow  Springs,  just  over  the  line  in  New  Mexico,  to  prepare 
for  a 107-mile  dry  drive  to  the  water  of  the  Sacramento 
River.  When  I started  the  herd  from  Crow  Springs  I left 
my  horses  there  until  the  next  morning,  so  as  to  have  fresh 
mounts  when  they  overtook  us  the  second  day,  then  we  sent 
the  horses  on  to  water  thirty  miles  up  the  Sacramento.  From 
the  mouth  of  the  Sacramento  the  channel  of  the  river  was  a 
dry  bed  of  gravel  for  30  miles  with  great  bluffs  on  either  side 
hundreds  of  feet  high.  The  herd  strung  out  up  this  canyon 
for  several  miles,  and  we  pushed  forward  as  rapidly  as  pos- 
sible. When  we  reached  the  water  I turned  the  cattle  up 
the  steep  mountain  side  as  fast  as  they  arrived  and  got  their 
fill.  It  was  ten  hours  from  the  time  the  lead  cattle  reached 
the  water  until  the  tail  end  got  there.  They  were  in  very 
poor  condition,  and  a pitiful  sight  to  see,  with  their  sunken 
eyes  and  some  of  them  barely  able  to  creep  along.  There 
was  no  grass  in  the  canyon,  but  we  found  good  grass  and 
water  on  the  mountains  and  range  herded  them  several  days, 
then  put  them  back  in  the  canyon  several  miles  above  and 
followed  it  up  to  the  divide  where  we  crossed  over  to  Dog 
Canyon.  On  this  divide  I saw  my  first  wild  elk,  and  some 
of  the  tallest  pine  trees  I had  ever  seen.  Dog  Canyon  was 
very  steep  and  we  had  to  lock  all  the  wagon  wheels  to  pass 
many  places.  At  the  mouth  of  Dog  Canyon  our  route  was 
around  White  Mountain,  and  in  this  region  was  where  old 
Geronimo  was  depredating.  We  often  saw  the  signal  fires 
of  the  Indians  at  night,  and  in  order  to  play  safe  we  would 
bed  our  herd  in  the  evening,  eat  supper  before  dark,  then 
take  our  horses  and  wagon  and  camp  a mile  or  more  away 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


407 


from  the  herd  so  the  Indians  would  not  find  us  if  they  at- 
tacked the  herd.  No  fire  was  built  at  those  camps  to  guide 
the  redskins.  Next  day  we  would  round-up  the  herd  and 
move  on.  We  were  not  attacked  and  I suppose  it  was  be- 
cause our  cattle  and  horses  were  in  such  poor  condition  the 
Indians  did  not  care  for  them,  and  further  they  were  not 
seeking  a fight  with  a bunch  of  Texas  cowboys.  We  went  by 
Tularosa  and  La  Luz,  across  Melpia  at  the  government  cross- 
ing, and  crossed  the  Rio  Grande  at  San  Marcial,  proceeding 
on  to  Magdalena,  where  I was  taken  seriously  ill.  Mr.  Hall 
met  us  here  and  took  the  herd  on  to  Luna  Valley,  Arizona. 
Remarkable  as  it  may  seem,  I lost  only  five  head  of  these 
cattle  on  the  entire  trip,  which  were  bogged  in  a marsh 
at  La  Luz.  At  this  marsh  we  had  considerable  difficulty  in 
pulling  out  about  fifty  head  that  were  bogged,  but  we  could 
not  save  the  five  head  mentioned  above. 

The  trip  was  made  in  cold  weather,  part  of  the  time 
freezing  temperatures  prevailed,  and  we  suffered  a great 
deal  from  the  cold  and  exposure. 

This  made  the  third  herd,  or  trip,  I had  taken  that  year, 
which  was  a record-breaker,  and  I decided  to  recuperate, 
so  1 went  to  Socorro,  N.  M.,  reaching  there  the  20th  of  De- 
cember, 1884,  and  after  spending  awhile  there  I went  to  El 
Paso,  and  found  employment  with  the  Newman  & Davis  out- 
fit which  was  working  in  Chihuahua,  Mexico,  just  across 
from  the  mouth  of  Van  Horn  Canyon.  I was  over  there 
during  the  Cutting  trouble  and  helped  to  get  many  cattle 
across  into  Texas  before  the  threatened  confiscation  occurred. 

In  the  spring  of  1886  I returned  to  San  Antonio,  and  again 
went  into  the  livestock  commission  business  under  the  firm 
name  of  Smith,  Oliver  & Saunders,  being  associated  with 
Frank  Oliver,  now  of  Victoria,  and  Capt.  Bill  Smith,  one  of 
San  Antonio’s  most  respected  citizens  who  is  now  deceased. 
I finally  sold  my  interest  in  this  firm  to  Jace  Addington  and 
bought  the  cattle  end  of  the  business,  and  going  it  alone 
with  offices  at  the  Sap  stock  yards  near  the  Sap  depot  on 
the  Hickman  property,  later  purchasing  the  Weller  Stock 
Yards  on  Medina  street,  and  was  successful  in  building  a 
good  business.  Afterward  Dr.  Graves,  Captain  Lytle,  Jess 


408 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


Pressnall,  John  Price,  W.  H.  Jennings  and  myself  formed  a 
company  and  built  the  Union  Stock  Yards.  1 sold  my  yards 
on  Medina  Street  and  moved  to  the  present  location  thirty- 
one  years  ago,  and  have  continued  right  here  ever  since. 
I am  the  oldest  livestock  commission  man  in  the  state  today 
who  is  still  actively  engaged  in  the  business.  I incorporated 
my  business  fifteen  years  ago,  sold  shares  to  leading  stock- 
men  all  over  the  country,  and  today  I am  the  president  and 
general  manager  of  the  firm  which  is  known  as  the  George 
W.  Saunders  Live  Stock  Commission  Company,  with  offices 
at  San  Antonio  and  Fort  Worth.  The  Fort  Worth  branch 
is  managed  by  my  son-in-law,  W.  E.  Jary.  We  enjoy  a lib- 
eral patronage  from  all  parts  of  Texas,  New  Mexico,  Okla- 
homa, Louisiana,  and  Old  Mexico,  and  do  a gross  business 
of  between  five  and  six  million  dollars  annually. 

Besides  actively  giving  my  attention  to  my  commission 
business  I supervise  the  management  of  four  small  ranches 
and  a 700-acre  farm.  1 have  always  tried  to  follow  the 
policies  of  my  father  and  deal  justly  and  fairly  with  all  men, 
but  considering  the  bad  influences  that  many  times  engulfed 
me,  the  many  temptations  to  deal  unfairly,  and  the  glowing 
prospects  to  greatly  profit  by  yielding  to  them,  it  required 
an  iron  will  and  determination  to  resist,  hence  I feel  proud 
that  my  record  is  not  worse.  I have  made  money  in  almost 
every  undertaking,  but  my  sympathy  for  suffering  humanity, 
and  my  liberality  in  dealing  has  kept  me  from  accumulating 
a fortune.  I believe  that  ninety-five  per  cent  of  the  people 
who  know  me  are  my  friends,  and  I value  them  more  than 
the  millions  of  gold  which  perhaps  I could  have  accumu- 
lated by  sacrificing  their  friendship  by  unfair  dealing.  I have 
always  been  willing  to  give  to  charity  or  any  laudable  pur- 
pose that  had  for  its  object  the  uplift  of  my  fellowman,  and 
have  always  lent  aid  and  encouragement  to  every  undertaking 
that  was  for  the  upbuilding  of  our  state  and  my  home  city, 
San  Antonio.  I served  two  years  as  alderman  of  Ward  2 in 
San  Antonio  during  the  Clinton  Brown  administration,  dur- 
ing which  time  we  voted  $3,500,000  city  bonds,  had  them 
approved  and  sold  and  spent  the  money  in  municipal  im- 
provements, building  sewers,  widening  streets,  and  paving 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


409 


thoroughfares,  making  a modern  city  of  the  old  Mexican 
town.  During  the  world  war  I served  as  chairman  of  the 
Exemption  Board,  Division  No.  1,  free  of  charge,  and  did 
all  I could  to  help  win  the  war. 

My  two  daughters  by  my  first  marriage  are  now  Mrs.  W. 
E.  Jary  of  Fort  Worth,  and  Mrs.  T.  M.  Webb  of  Palestine. 
On  January  1,  1889,  1 was  married  to  Miss  Ida  Friedrich  of 
San  Antonio.  Of  this  union  we  have  one  daughter,  Mrs. 
C.  D.  Cannon  of  San  Antonio. 

I have  seen  and  participated  in  many  unpleasant  things 
during  my  sixty  years  of  active  life,  but  I think  they  are 
best  forgotten.  I do  not  think  it  would  be  amiss,  how- 
ever, to  mention  some  of  the  hardships  and  examples  of  self- 
denial  endured  by  the  people  of  the  early  days.  During  the 
Civil  War  our  family  and  all  of  our  neighbors  were  com- 
pelled to  make  almost  everything  they  used  or  wore; 
all  ropes  were  made  from  hides  or  horse  hair,  all  of 

our  clothing  was  spun  and  woven  at  home,  and  I have  carded 
and  spun  many  nights  until  late  bed-time.  Leather  was 

tanned  by  the  settlers  with  bark  from  oak  trees  and  used  to 
rig  saddles  and  for  other  purposes.  Our  shoes  were  made 
by  country  shoemakers;  our  saddle  trees  were  made  at  home; 
we  used  water  from  creeks  and  rivers.  Before  the  country 
was  stocked  all  the  streams  contained  pure  clear  water.  We 
carried  corn  in  sacks  on  horseback  fifteen  to  twenty-five 
miles  to  mills  to  be  ground  into  meal,  or  ground  the  corn 
at  home  with  small  hand  grist  mills;  wagons,  ox  yokes,  looms 
and  spinning  wheels  were  made  at  home;  hats  were  plaited 

and  made  from  palmetto.  The  rich  and  the  poor  in  our 

days  were  on  equal  footing,  because  these  necessities  could 
not  be  bought.  As  1 look  back  to  those  times  I am  impressed 
with  the  marvelous  changes  time  has  wrought.  The  people  of 
those  good  old  days  were  brave  and  fearless,  but  if  a high 
powered  automobile  had  gone  speeding  through  the  country 
at  night  with  its  bright  headlights  glaring,  and  its  horn 
screeching,  I am  sure  the  inhabitants  would  all  have  taken  to 
the  brush,  thinking  it  was  some  supernatural  monster. 

The  descendants  of  the  early  settlers  of  Texas  are  today 
identified  with  every  industry  in  the  country.  Their  intelli- 


410 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


gence  and  traits  of  character  are  not  surpassed  by  any  people 
on  earth,  because  they  are  quick  to  learn,  quick  to  act,  brave, 
honest  and  true  to  God  and  country.  A quarter  of  a century 
of  my  life,  from  1861  to  1886,  was  a continual  chain  of 
thrills,  not  by  choice,  but  by  the  customs  of  those  times.  The 
dangers  through  which  1 passed  during  those  days  makes  me 
shudder  when  I recall  them,  but  I attribute  my  preservation  to 
the  earnest  prayers  of  my  devoutly  religious  father  and 
mother,  who  continually  entreated  Almighty  God  to  protect 
their  reckless  boy.  They  taught  me  to  trust  in  the  Divine 
Father  from  infancy,  and  their  admonitions  have  continued 
with  me  to  this  day,  never  dimmed  but  brightening  as  the 
years  pass.  1 do  not  claim  to  have  followed  their  teaching 
to  the  letter,  but  the  training  1 received  at  their  knees  has 
been  a guide  and  great  support  to  me  through  life.  Had  1 
not  received  this  early  training  to  fortify  me  against  the 
many  temptations  1 cannot  think  what  would  have  been  the 
outcome. 

1 want  to  say  a word  about  some  of  the  men  with  whom 
I have  been  associated  during  my  business  career,  for  1 feel 
that  such  affiliation  has  contributed  to  my  success  in  the 
business  world.  As  good  fortune  would  have  it  I fell  in 
with  the  best  men  of  our  country,  men  of  honesty  and  in- 
tegrity, and  leaders  in  the  affairs  of  county  and  state.  They 
helped  me  to  attain  that  which  1 think  1 now  possess,  a 
good  name,  which  is  “rather  to  be  chosen  than  great  riches.” 
They  were  loyal  at  all  times,  and  ever  ready  to  advise  and 
assist  me. 

And  right  here  1 want  to  pay  a tribute  to  the  noble 
women  of  our  land,  for  they  are  more  deserving  of  praise 
than  all  of  the  men  combined.  Consider  the  pioneer  moth- 
ers and  wives  of  our  glorious  state,  and  think  of  the 
hardships  and  privations  they  endured  for  the  sake  of  being 
near  and  helping  husband  or  father  to  make  a home  in  the 
new  country.  Their  social  pleasures  were  few,  their  work 
heavy.  Dangers  lurked  on  every  hand,  but  bravely  and  un- 
complainingly these  women  endured  their  hard  lot,  cheering 
and  encouraging  the  men  who  were  their  protectors.  God 
bless  them ! I often  heard  it  said  in  the  days  of  my  youth 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


41  1 


J.  B.  MURRAH 


T.  A.  COLEMAN 


W.  A.  PERIL 


R.  B.  PUMPHREY 


412 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


that  the  women  were  the  hope  of  our  nation.  They  have 
fulfilled  that  hope  in  every  sense  of  the  term,  and  I believe 
they  will  ever  continue  to  do  so. 

I was  the  first  man  to  introduce  roping  contests  in  this 
state  some  thirty  years  ago,  but  the  practice  was  so  badly 
abused  and  so  many  cattle  crippled  and  killed,  that  I regretted 
the  introduction,  so  accordingly  in  after  years  I was  the  first 
to  petition  the  Legislature  to  pass  a law  prohibiting  the  sport. 

From  1868  to  1895  it  is  estimated  that  fully  35,000  men 
went  up  the  trail  with  herds,  if  the  number  of  men  computed 
by  the  number  of  cattle  driven  is  correct.  Of  this  number  or 
men  about  one-third  were  negroes  and  Mexicans,  another 
third  made  more  than  one  trip.  Let  us  conclude  that  one-half  of 
the  white  trail  drivers  who  made  one  trip  have  died,  and  we  still 
have  some  6,000  survivors  of  the  trail  scattered  all  over  the 
world,  all  of  whom  ought  to  be  members  of  our  association. 
This  would  give  us  the  strength  to  forever  perpetuate  our  or- 
ganization, for  as  it  is  now  our  sons  are  eligible  to  mem- 
bership and  they  in  turn  can  make  their  sons  and  grandsons 
eligible  as  they  grow  to  manhood.  I have  urged  the  organiza- 
tion of  the  old  trail  drivers  for  thirty-five  years.  Many  of 
my  old  comrades  promised  to  participate  in  the  organiza- 
tion, but  it  was  put  off  from  time  to  time,  until  1915,  when 
I called  a few  together  and  started  the  movement  which  has 
steadily  grown  until  today  I feel  that  my  efforts  in  this  mat- 
ter have  been  in  a large  measure  successful.  If  we  had  or- 
ganized earlier,  however,  1 am  sure  we  would  have  preserved 
the  record  of  many  of  our  old  comrades  who  have  crossed 
over  the  Great  Divide  and  retained  much  of  the  trail  slang 
and  customs  that  have  passed  away. 

1 have  carefully  read  most  of  the  sketches  that  appear 
in  this  book.  They  tend  to  show  that  the  early  settlers  and 
old  trail  drivers  did  more  toward  the  development  of  this 
state  than  all  other  things  combined,  and  it  would  be  the 
father  of  all  mistakes  to  allow  the  record  of  these  men  to 
go  down  in  unwritten  history.  Therefore,  this  book  was  pre- 
pared to  preserve  that  record.  My  greatest  wish  is  that  the 
proceeds  from  the  sale  of  the  book  will  be  used  for  the  pur- 
pose of  erecting  a monument,  one  hundred  feet  high  to  the 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


413 


drivers  of  the  famous  old  trail,  somewhere  on  the  trail  near 
San  Antonio  or  Fort  Worth. 


BURIED  A COWBOY  IN  A LONELY  GRAVE  ON 
THE  PRAIRIE. 

By  Alfred  Iverson  (Babe)  Moye,  Kenedy,  Texas. 

I was  born  in  Georgia  and  reared  in  Texas,  my  father 

settling  in  Tyler  county.  In  December  1870,  I went  to 

Helena,  and  while  I was  there  a young  man  named  Silvers 
was  killed  by  the  sheriff.  M.  J.  Bean  was  collector  for  the 
stockmen  and  I went  with  him  on  one  of  his  trips.  As 
we  crossed  the  Frio  River  we  saw  a number  of  people  con- 
gregating at  a little  house  and  learned  from  them  that  the 
Indians  had  the  day  before  murdered  the  Stringfield  family. 
The  oldest  girl  was  later  found  by  some  Mexicans,  and  she 
is  now  living  in  San  Antonio.  Two  little  boys,  aged  four 
and  six  years  respectively,  were  taken  away  by  the  Indians 
and  the  oldest  of  the  two  was  found  dead  by  the  roadside 

with  his  head  split  open,  but  the  other  was  never  heard  from. 

The  following  spring  I hired  to  an  outfit  to  go  to  Kansas 
with  a herd  which  we  received  in  the  mountains  about  fifty 
miles  above  Uvalde.  While  we  were  herding  the  cattle  in 
the  valley  Indians  would  appear  on  the  mountains  and  bow 
to  us  and  make  signs  which  we  did  not  understand.  I went 
out  one  day  to  hunt  for  a bunch  of  our  horses  and  found 
a bunch  of  Indians  instead.  They  took  after  me,  but  I out- 
ran them  back  to  camp.  I guess  my  eyes  were  out  of  fix, 
for  it  seemed  to  me  that  there  were  about  a hundred  red- 
skins in  the  band,  but  investigation  later  proved  that  there 
were  only  about  fifteen.  Ten  men  of  our  outfit  went  back 
over  the  ground  and  found  three  arrows  they  had  shot  at 
me  while  in  the  race.  About  the  last  of  March  we  got  our 
herd  of  1500  beeves  road-branded  and  starting  with  them, 
we  soon  reached  Red  River,  which  we  crossed  at  Red  River 
Station  into  the  Indian  Territory.  The  Territory  at  that  time 
was  unsettled,  nothing  there  except  buffalo,  Indians  and 
fugitives  from  other  states.  These  men  would  steal  and  rob 
and  lay  it  on  the  Indians,  so  we  had  to  guard  our  horses  every 


414 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


night  to  prevent  them  from  being  stolen.  One  night  a Mexi- 
can boy  and  myself  were  on  guard  and  the  Mexican  struck  a 
match  to  light  his  cigarette  and  as  he  did  so  somebody  shot 
at  us  three  times  in  quick  succession,  and  when  we  returned 
the  fire  the  boys  at  camp  rushed  out  to  our  assistance.  The 
scheme  was  to  scare  us  away  from  our  horses  so  they  could 
get  them.  At  Abilene,  Kansas,  we  found  a wide  open  town. 
Ben  Thompson  and  Hill  Coe  were  running  the  noted  Bull 
Head  saloon,  and  Wild  Bill  Hickok  was  city  marshall.  There 
I met  up  with  John  Wesley  Hardin,  Buffalo  Bill,  Bill  Thomp- 
son, Manny  Clements  and  Gip  Clements,  and  we  went  over 
to  the  gambling  house.  It  did  not  take  the  gamblers  there 
long  to  relieve  me  of  all  the  money  I possessed.  Wild  Bill 
Hickok  told  me  that  the  best  way  to  beat  the  game  was  to 
let  it  alone.  1 took  his  advice  and  have  been  beating  the 
game  ever  since.  Coe  was  later  killed  by  Wild  Bill  and 
Thompson  afterward  closed  out  the  Bull  Head  and  returned 
to  Austin. 

The  next  year  I went  up  the  trail  with  the  same  firm, 
Choate  & Bennett.  We  received  the  cattle  on  the  Nueces 
River,  with  John  Henry  Choate  in  charge  of  the  herd.  When 
we  reached  Red  River  at  Red  River  Station,  we  had  to 
swim  across.  1 was  riding  a 2x4  Spanish  pony,  and  before 
I got  across  I had  to  slip  off  his  back  and  grasp  him  by  the 
tail  to  get  to  the  other  side.  We  had  a severe  storm  after 
we  left  Red  River  and  a number  of  our  men  were  shocked 
by  lightning.  We  drove  our  herd  to  Great  Bend,  Kansas, 
on  the  Arkansas  River.  That  is  now  one  of  the  finest  wheat 
belts  in  the  world. 

The  next  year  I went  with  W.  G.  Butler  to  Ogallala.  My 
oldest  brother,  Andy  Moye,  was  on  this  trip  with  us  and  got 
into  trouble  at  Ogallala  that  caused  us  to  leave  in  some- 
what of  a hurry. 

1 went  up  the  trail  again  the  next  year,  and  it  seemed  that 
we  had  more  storms  than  usual.  When  we  reached  the 
Cimarron  River  in  the  Territory  it  was  bankfull  and  we  had 
to  stay  there  several  days  before  we  could  cross.  While  we 
were  there  two  tramps  came  along  who  said  they  were  going 
to  swim  the  river.  We  tried  to  talk  them  out  of  the  foolish 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


415 


undertaking,  but  they  plunged  in  and  when  half  v^ay  across 
they  began  yelling  for  us  to  come  and  help  them  out,  but 
we  could  not  get  to  them  and  they  both  drowned. 

On  Smoky  River,  in  the  northwestern  part  of  Kansas,  my- 
self and  several  other  cowboys  were  hunting  stampeded 
beeves  one  day  and  found  the  corpse  of  a cowboy  who  had 
come  to  his  death  in  some  manner  unknown  to  us.  We  de- 
cided to  bury  him  there,  so  we  dug  a hole  and  rolled  him 
into  .it,  with  but  little  burial  ceremony.  One  of  our  crowd 
was  a good  singer,  and  sang  the  old  cowboy  song  that  all 
of  the  old  boys  are  familiar  with,  which  runs  something  like 
this: 

“Oh  bury  me  not  on  the  lone  prairie, 

Where  the  coyotes  may  howl  o’er  me; 

And  dig  my  grave  just  six  by  three — 

But  bury  me  not  on  the  lone  prairie. 

“Yes  bury  nie  under  an  evergreen  tree, 

Where  the  little  birds  may  sing  o’er  me; 

And  dig  my  grave  just  six  by  three — 

But  bury  me  not  on  the  lone  prairie.” 

Our  hearts  were  sad  when  we  left  that  poor  unknown  boy 
out  there  under  the  sod  of  that  lonely  prairie,  many  miles 
from  a habitation.  Some  mother’s  boy  who  went  away  never 
to,  return,  some  husband  or  father  perhaps  who  went  out  into 
that  wild  country  and  lost  his  life  there. 

Nearly  all  of  my  old  cowboy  chums  of  fifty  years  ago  have 
passed  over  the  trail  to  that  home  beyond  the  grave.  A few 
are  left  here,  sore-footed  and  dragging,  but  still  full  of  life. 
Among  those  who  are  still  in  the  land  of  the  living  1 will 
mention  one,  for  whom  1 have  always  had  the  highest  re- 
gard and  esteem,  and  that  is  P.  B.  Butler,  who  lives  at  Kene- 
dy, Texas.  He  was  always  found  honest  and  square  in  all  of 
his  dealings,  true  to  his  friends,  and  one  of  the  best  stock- 
men  in  all  Southwest  Texas.  P.  B.  Butler  will  leave  behind 
him  a good  name  as  a heritage  to  his  posterity,  and  an  ex- 
ample for  oncoming  generations  to  follow. 


416 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


A few  more  of  the  old  boys  are  living  near  me,  Munroe 
Hinton,  Hiram  Reynolds  and  Dick  Smith  being  among 'them. 
Tom  Edwards  passed  away  just  a short  time  ago.  When  I 
see  my  old  comrades  in  town,  bent  with  the  weight  of  three 
score  and  ten  I am  reminded  that  my  time  to  quit  the  walks 
of  men  is  fast  approaching,  just  a few  years  more  at  best,  and 
we  will  all  join  the  silent  majority. 


SOME  THINGS  I SAW  LONG  AGO. 

By  George  Gerdes. 

Here  are  my  credentials:  “1  solemnly  swear  and  affirm” 

that  1 went  the  length  of  the  trail — up  to  Dodge  City,  Kan- 
sas, and  frrom  there  to  Pueblo,  Colorado.  “I  further  sol- 
emnly swear  and  affirm”  that  1 will  tell  “not”  all  I saw  and 
heard.  Who  would?  It’s  a long  time  back — to  remember; 
and  if  you  did  remember,  would  you  care  to  tell;  if  you  cared 
to  tell,  would  you  dare  to  tell?  And  if  you  dared  to  tell 
you’d  be  afraid;  and  if  you  weren’t  afraid,  you’d  be  “skeered” 
as  Helmar  Jenkins  Booth. 

My  credentials  further  state,  that  1 was  born  when  quite 
young,  in  1863,  at  a little  “jumping-off-in-the-road”  place 
called  Quihi,  Medina  County,  Texas,  on  what  was  then  known 
as  the  old  John  Heyen  place.  We  moved  later  to  Sturm 
(meaning  “storm”)  hill,  where  I spent  most  of  my  child- 
hood days. 

Father  was  a stock  raiser;  and,  also  took  cattle  on  shares, 
— attending  to  the  handling  and  care  of  them  on  the  open 
range.  My  sister  and  1 were  sent  to  school  in  an  old  school 
house  nearby,  on  the  Klappenbach  ranch,  to  be  “edjicated.” 

As  children  we  were  warned  and  taught  to  be  on  the 
lookout  for  Indians.  We  were  told  wild  and  weird  stories  of 
massacres  and  how  Indians  would  steal  children  and  torture 
them;  and  which  was  not  a “fairy  story,”  but  a fact.  We 
were  on  our  way  home  one  evening  after  school  when  we 
saw  in  the  distance  a band  of  Indians  coming  in  our  direc- 
tion. It  took  us  but  a moment  to  hide  in  a cluster  of  white 
brush.  The  Indians  passed  uncomfortably  close  to  us  on 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


417 


their  way  to  some  other  place,  as  the  settlement  was  not 
molested  that  night.  They  confined  their  raids  mostly  to 
stealing'  of  stock,  such  as  horses  and  mules;  however,  they 
did  not  hesitate  in  “lifting  a scalp”  if  chance  offered.  Some 
time  later  Indians  appeared  at  night  and  made  a raid  on  our 
settlement,  taking  with  them  a number  of  horses,  and  hap- 
pened to  lose  one  of  their  own — a little  dun  pony.  We  took 
up  this  pony  and  fed  him  so  that  he  was  soon  nice  and  fat. 
One  evening  we  took  him  out  to  graze  near  the  house,  and 
had  gone  back  some  300  yards  when  we  saw  a bunch  of 
redskins  leading  away  our  fat  little  pony  and  we  lost  no 
time  in  hiding.  We  found  the  cut  hobble  next  morning 
about  ten  feet  from  where  we  had  left  the  horse,  and  1 
guess  the  Indians  had  watched  us,  and  waited  long  enough 
for  us  to  leave  and  then  took  the  animal.  That  very  night 
the  Indians  stole  horses  all  over  the  settlement.  They  also 
visited  a place  belonging  to  Nic  Haby.  He  had  his  horses 
and  mules  in  a pen  and  was  guarding  them,  hiding  behind  a 
large  live-oak  tree.  Early  in  the  night  he  noticed  his  horses 
becoming  restless  and  directly  an  Indian  appeared  above  the 
fence  and  jumped  into  the  corral  among  the  horses.  Nic 
Haby  was  a good  shot  and  the  Indian  found  it  out.  The 
following  morning  a neighbor  of  Haby’s  came  over  to  tell 
Haby  his  trouble  with  Indians  and  the  loss  of  horses  he  had 
sustained,  when  he  espied  the  dead  Indian.  He  drew  his 
dirk  and  plunged  it  into  the  redskin’s  body,  exclaiming:  “That 
is  the  son-of-a-gun;  he  stole  my  horses.”  They  put  a rope 
around  the  Indian’s  head  and  dragged  him  up  on  the  moun- 
tain, turning  him  over  to  the  mercies  of  the  buzzards  and 
hogs.  They  accorded  him  the  same  burial  that  the  redskins 
gave  their  white  victims.  For  a long  time  thereafter  no- 
body would  eat  pork. 

After  I was  large,  or  old  enough  to  work  out,  I started 
freighting,  my  first  trip  being  with  a two-horse  wagon  from 
San  Antonio  to  Fort  Clark.  There  were  generally  from  six 
to  ten  wagons  making  the  trip  at  the  same  time,  partly  for 
protection  and  also  for  assistance  which  in  the  rainy  season 
was  quite  imperative.  After  a trip  or  two,  I bought  a three- 
and-a-half-inch  Studebaker  wagon  and  hitched  up  six  animals. 


418 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


We  freighted  to  Del  Rio,  to  Eagle  Pass  and  to  Fort  Clark 
from  San  Antonio,  Texas.  We  would  take  out  merchandise 
and  bring  back  raw  material — wool  and  hides,  and  some 
times  a load  of  empty  beer  bottles,  or  “dead  soldiers”  as 
we  called  them.  We  had  some  experiences  with  our  work 
teams  stampeding  at  night;  and  sometimes  we  would  catch  up 
with  them  next  day  ten  or  twelve  miles  away,  homeward 
bound.  In  those  days  there  were  no  graded  roads;  a wa- 
gon-track, or  a number  of  them  would  be  called  a road  if  it 
had  the  name  of  its  destination  tacked  to  it.  Sometimes  a 
road  would  be  100  feet  wide  or  wider  according  to  where 
the  ground  was  most  solid  and  suitable  to  travel.  When  the 
rainy  spell  set  in  the  roads  were  almost  impassable.  Some- 
times we  hitched  as  many  as  sixteen  animals  to  a wagon  to 
pull  it  out  of  the  mud,  and  would  move  it  100  feet  or  so, 
then  hook  on  to  the  next  one,  until  we  had  them  all  out  of 
the  mud.  I have  seen  the  time  that  we  were  camped  for 
weeks  on  this  side  of  the  Frio  River  on  account  of  high  wa- 
ter and  impassable  roads.  We  had  an  old  mule  that  we  used 
in  swimming  the  river  when  going  to  Uvalde  for  bacon  and 
meal.  We  had  plenty  of  meat,  such  as  rabbits,  venison  and 
also  fish.  In  1881  with  the  coming  of  the  Southern  Pacific 
Railroad  our  trade  went  “blooe.”  I became  foreman  of  the 
Judge  Noonan  ranch  southwest  of  Castroville,  Texas,  and 
worked  there  until  I went  up  the  trail  in  1884. 

Ed  Kaufman  and  Louis  Schorp,  both  of  them  alive  to  this 
day,  gathered  a herd  of  some  450  head  of  horses  in  Me- 
dina county,  Texas.  With  them  were  J.  M.  Saathoff,  Ehme 
Saathof,  a cook  by  name  of  Ganahl  Brown  and  myself.  We 
started  from  Castroville,  and  drove  by  way  of  Bandera,  Kerr- 
ville  and  over  the  “old  trail,”  crossing  the  Red  River  at  the 
old  Doan  store.  We  herded  the  horses  the  first  few  nights 
and  later  let  them  graze  or  rest  during  the  night  to  them- 
selves. We  had  a very  wet  trip,  it  raining  almost  every  day 
while  we  were  on  the  way.  Feed  for  the  horses  was  plenti- 
ful and  our  crew  fared  on  wild  game,  corn-bread  and  black 
coffee.  We  came  across  our  first  Indians  when  we  arrived 
in  the  Indian  Territory.  They  were  very  friendly,  and  would 
eat  tobacco  and  sugar  “out  of  your  hand.”  These  articles 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


419 


were  always  on  their  mind  and  after  their  preliminary  “How” 
they  would  never  fail  to  ask  for  them.  When  the  meals 
we  were  cooking  were  ready  there  would  always  be  some 
“self-invited”  Indian  guest  or  guests  to  fall  in  and  help  them- 
selves and  eat  to  their  heart’s  content.  One  day  an  old  buck 
rode  up  to  me  in  the  usual  way  and  asked  for  “terback.”  I 
handed  him  a plug  and  after  he  gave  two  or  three  of  his 
“compadres”  each  a chew  he  took  one  himself  and  stuck  the 
balance  in  his  pocket.  1 argued  and  asked  him  to  give  me 
back  my  plug,  but  he  said:  “Pony  boss,  he  be  good,”  and 
rode  off. 

It  was  customary  to  pay  a duty  on  horses  crossing  the  res- 
ervation, and  our  boss  paid  the  Indians  in  horses,  but  they 
also  stole  some  twenty-five  head  from  us  before  we  got 
away  from  them.  We  did  not  have  very  much  trouble  with 
the  horses,  and  our  trip  took  up  something  like  four  months, 
from  Castroville,  Texas,  to  Dodge  City,  Kansas.  We  camped 
with  our  herd  about  six  miles  south  of  Dodge  City  on  Mul- 
berry creek.  The  first  thing  we  did  when  we  arrived  there 
was  to  go  to  town,  get  a shave  and  hair  cut,  and  tighten  our 
belts  by  a few  good  strong  drinks.  Here  I also  met  George 
W.  Saunders — the  same  George  who  is  now  the  worthy  pres- 
ident of  the  “Old  Trail  Drivers’  Association.” 

While  here  our  boss,  Ed  Kaufman  got  summons  that  some 
important  business  demanded  his  immediate  return  to  Medina 
county.  He  left  the  herd  in  our  charge  until  such  a time 
when  he  should  return,  in  about  30  days.  After  he  got  back 
to  the  herd  he  sold  it  to  Mr.  Wilson,  of  Pueblo,  Colorado; 
where  he  had  to  deliver  the  horses  for  him. 

After  delivery  of  the  horses  at  Pueblo,  Colo.,  I hired  to 
Wilson,  and  worked  for  a couple  of  months,  when  I was 
sent  back  to  Dodge  City  to  receive  and  take  charge  of  a herd 
of  3500  head  of  two-year-old  stocker  steers  for  Wilson.  I 
started  the  herd  and  the  cattle  would  stampede  every  bloom- 
ing night.  Often  in  the  morning  we  had  to  help  from  thirty 
to  forty  of  the  poorer  steers  on  their  feet  by  a tail-hold  and 
lift.  This  was  repeated  for  some  eight  to  ten  days;  and  we 
could  only  make  from  five  to  six  miles  per  day.  We  tired 
of  herding  the  cattle  at  night,  so  would  scatter  the  herd  over 


420 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


a large  area  of  ground  to  give  them  more  elbow  room.  This 
worked  like  a charm,  for  as  long  as  the  cattle  were  not  in 
close  formation  they  would  not  get  excited  so  easily — and 
we  had  no  more  runs. 

We  took  the  herd  about  sixty  miles  below  Pueblo  to  the 
Wilson  ranch,  branded  the  3500  head,  and  six  more  herds 
which  had  been  delivered  there  amounting  to  another  3500 — 
7000  head  in  all;  besides  branding,  we  dew-lapped  every  ani- 
mal. We  built  our  own  pens  and  chutes  to  do  this,  and 
hard  work  it  was.  Still,  we  had  lots  of  old-time  pleasure  to 
relieve  the  monotony.  Every  Saturday  afternoon  at  two 
o’clock  we  would  quit  work  and  go  to  a dance,  start  dancing 
at  4 P.  M.  and  dance  till  after  sun-rise  Sunday  morning.  We 
had  lots  of  refreshments,  booze,  beer  and  kindred  “exhilara- 
tors.”  Sometimes  a little  shooting  scrape  would  change  the 
scenery,  but  was  of  passing  interest.  From  the  Wilson  ranch 
I returned  home  by  way  of  Kansas  City.  I remained  at 
home  a short  time  and  took  up  some  State  land  in  1885, 
fenced  it — and  then  went  west,  to  Brewster  and  Presidio' 
counties,  where  I worked  for  Sam  Harmon,  of  Alpine,  Texas. 
Harmon  was  a round-up  boss  and  attended  to  the  branding 
and  gathering  of  stock.  The  first  work  we  did  was  out  of 
the  ordinary — we  tried  to  dig  a well.  We  blasted  through  65 
feet  of  solid  rock  and  left  a “dry  hole.”  Later  I worked  for 
F.  Collins  a long  time. 

In  1892  I left  Alpine  and  went  home  to  Medina  county, 
got  married  to  Johanna  Schweers  and  settling  down  five 
miles  north  of  Quihi — on  Sturm  Hill. 


WHEN  A BOY  BOSSED  A HERD. 

Sketch  of  J.  D.  Jackson,  Alpine,  Texas. 

J.  D.  Jackson  was  born  January  6,  1861,  on  Donahoe 
Creek  in  Bell  county,  Texas.  His  parents  came  to  Texas  from 
Louisiana  in  1852,  and  he  and  his  brother,  J.  W.  Jackson, 
still  own  the  old  Jackson  home  in  Bell  county. 

Joe  Jackson,  as  he  is  commonly  called,  was  in  charge  of 
a herd  of  cattle  on  the  trail  with  eight  to  ten  men  working 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS  42  1 

under  him,  at  the  age  of  eighteen.  At  one  time  he  drove  a 
herd  of  stock  cattle  more  than  eighty  miles  across  the  staked 
plains  of  West  Texas  without  water,  driving  the  cattle  at  night 
and  resting  in  the  day  time. 

Several  older  men  in  the  outfit  thought  the  men  and  cat- 
tle would  all  die,  so  they  appealed  to  the  second  boss,  L. 
B.  Wells,  to  “Tell  that  d — d boy  to  drive  day  and  night.” 
But  Wells  told  them  that  “that  boy”  knew  just  how  to  handle 
that  herd  and  would  get  them  all  to  water  if  they  would 
stay  with  him.  When  they  were  about  six  miles  from  the 
Pecos  River,  the  cattle  smelled  water  and  made  a mad  rush 
for  it.  Jackson  managed  to  stay  in  front  of  them,  as  he  was 
riding  a good  quarter  horse.  As  the  river  was  up,  Jackson 
rode  in  to  about  the  center  and  found  a sand  bar  and  stayed 
there  to  turn  the  cattle  out,  for  they  drank  almost  half  of 
the  night;  otherwise  the  cattle  would  have  drifted  down  the 
stream  with  the  steep  banks  on  both  sides  holding  them  in 
and  would  have  perished. 

In  1914  Joe  Jackson  was  elected  President  of  the  Cattle 
Raisers’  Association  of  Texas;  was  re-elected  in  1 9 1 5,  and 
many  of  his  friends,  among  whom  are  the  biggest  men  in 
Texas,  plead  with  him  to  allow  his  name  to  go  before  the 
convention  for  the  third  term,  but  he  refused.  During  his 
administration  the  association  grew  from  2250  to  4000  mem- 
bers, retaining  most  of  the  old  members. 

Aside  from  being  a benefactor  to  the  live  stock  interest, 
Joe  Jackson  is  reported  to  have  done  more  for  school  chil- 
dren than  any  other  man  in  West  Texas.  He  has  been 
president  of  the  school  board  at  his  home  town,  Alpine,  for 
sixteen  years  and  has  been  instrumental  in  building  up  a good 
public  school  system  in  Texas.  He  began  work  for  the  Sul 
Ross  State  Normal  nine  years  ago  and  has  been  working 
until  his  dream  came  true  and  it  is  now  a large  school  run- 
ning in  reality. 

He  and  his  partner,  S.  D.  Harmon,  have  large  holdings 
of  land  and  cattle  in  Brewster  county. 


422 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


ATE  STOLEN  MEAT  ANYWAY. 

By  Jim  Wilson,  Alpine,  Texas. 

I was  born  in  Bee  county  in  1861,  so  I am  not  as  old  as 
some  of  the  boys  who  had  lots  of  experience  up  the  trail  in 
the  70 ’s.  I went  up  the  trail  to  Kansas  in  1880,  leaving 
Bee  county  with  a herd  for  Millett  & Lane  and  turned  them 
over  in  the  Indian  Territory.  Dave  Clair  and  I went  with 
Woodward  & Oge,  with  Jim  Newton  as  boss.  Bill  Han- 
cock, a brother-in-law  to  Newton,  was  with  the  outfit,  and 
as  he  was  about  my  age  we  fell  in  together  somewhat.  One 
night  Dave  Clair,  Bill  Hancock,  myself  and  a boy  from  Kan- 
sas were  on  herd  when  a severe  thunder  storm  came  up, 
and  we  drifted  off  with  the  cattle.  The  Kansas  boy  was 
pretty  badly  scared  during  the  storm  and  kept  saying  that 
his  people  were  all  killed  in  a storm  and  he  just  knew  we 
were  going  to  be  killed  too.  Bill  got  excited  too,  and  asked 
me:  “Did  you  ever  pray?”  I told  him  no,  not  in  a long 

time.  He  said  “Some  of  us  have  got  to  pray,  for  the  light- 
ning is  going  to  kill  all  of  us.”  The  storm  increased  in  fury, 
the  lightning  striking  near  us  frequently  and  we  got  sep- 
arated: When  our  crowd  got  together  again  we  found  Bill 

off  his  horse  praying  aloud.  We  found  some  stray  cattle  in 
our  herd,  cows  and  calves,  and  Bill  remarked  that  “one  of 
those  fat  calves  would  be  good  eating,  if  it  was  ours.”  I 
told  him  stampeded  cattle  in  the  Territory  belonged  to  the 
trail  and  we  would  just  take  one.  He  said:  “No.  Jim 

Newton  will  fire  us  if  we  do  that,  and  I wouldn’t  eat  stolen 
meat  anyway.”  I did  not  care  if  we  were  fired,  for  1 was 
nearly  starved  for  fresh  meat,  as  we  had  not  had  any  since 

we  left  home,  so  I cut  out  one  of  those  calves,  ran  it  over 

to  the  wagon,  and  the  cook  and  I killed  it.  Before  it  quit 

kicking  I had  the  sweetbread  on  the  fire.  Before  it  was 

skinned  the  sweetbread  was  hot.  I went  back  to  where  Bill 
was  with  some  of  it  in  my  hand  and  told  him  to  go  and 
help  himself,  but  he  said  “I’ll  go  and  get  some  coffee,  but  I 
won’t  eat  any  of  that  beef,”  but  he  came  back  about  day- 
light with  a chunk  as  big  as  his  foot,  and  was  eating  it. 
When  I went  to  camp  I found  that  he  had  buried  the  head, 
hide  and  all.  These  stray  cattle  turned  out  to  be  Captain 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


423 


MRS.  BULAH  RUST  KIRKLAND 
Daughter  of  C.  H.  Rust, 

San  Angelo,  Texas 


J.  D.  JACKSON 


JOHN  DOAK 


PHIL  WRIGHT 


424 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


Lytle’s  which  had  been  lost  the  year  before,  and  we  turned 
them  over  to  his  outfit.  After  delivering  our  herd  I went 
back  to  Mobeetie  and  then  made  two  trips  to  Dodge  City 
that  fall  with  the  Turkey  Track  outfit. 

Times  have  changed  since  then.  All  of  the  boys  of  this 
generation  are  driving  automobiles  out  to  herds  and  after  rid- 
ing around  a little  back  to  town  they  go.  The  only  way 
you  can  get  them  out  to  work  is  to  go  in  an  automobile  after 
them,  and  if  the  job  is  within  twenty  miles  of  town  you  have 
to  take  them  back  to  see  the  picture  show.  I guess  we  will 
soon  have  to  take  flying  machines  to  get  them  out. 

I moved  to  Brewster  county  in  1884,  and  have  engaged  in 
the  ranch  and  mercantile  business  here  for  many  years.  I 
operated  a large  store  in  Alpine  for  a long  time,  and  all  I 
knew  about  the  business  was  the  price  of  horse  shoes  and 
Battle  Axe  tobacco.  My  clerks  frequently  accused  me  of 
selling  goods  too  high  or  too  cheap,  and  said  about  the  best 
place  for  me  was  out  among  the  cattle. 


SPENT  A HARD  WINTER  NEAR  RED  CLOUD. 

By  D.  S.  Combs,  San  Antonio,  Texas. 

My  experience  covers  a great  deal  of  time,  as  I am  now 
just  past  my  eighty-first  birthday.  You,  perhaps,  have  lived 
long  enough  to  know  that  a man  frequently  forgets  many 
things  he  would  like  to  remember  and  remembers  many 
things  he  would  like  to  forget,  but  to  me  the  memories  of 
the  Old  Trail  days  are  very  pleasant,  principally  on  the  ac- 
count of  my  good  fortune  to  be  associated  with  many  of  the 
pioneer  cow  men  of  Texas,  who  made  the  country  famous  by 
their  display  of  nerve  and  grey  matter. 

We  did  not  know  anything  about  the  so-called  hard  times, 
we  were  trained  to  meet  conditions,  overcome  obstacles  and 
accomplish  what  we  started  out  to  do.  My  first  experience 
on  the  Trail  was  in  1866,  when  I drove  a herd  of  cattle 
from  San  Marcos,  in  Hays  county,  to  New  Iberia,  La.  Will- 
iam Earnest  owned  these  cattle,  he  put  the  value  on  them  at 
$6.00  per  head,  I did  the  work  and  we  divided  profits.  I 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


425 


had  with  me  young  men  with  the  grit  necessary  to  accom- 
plish this  undertaking.  In  those  days  we  did  not  discuss 
hardships;  it  seemed  to  be  a pleasure  to  accomplish  our  un- 
dertaking. We  cooked  our  own  food,  slept  on  the  ground, 
worked  in  the  rain  in  day  time  and  at  night,  but  all  this  was 
a pleasure.  Having  made  a real  success  of  my  first  venture 
1 was  determined  to  tackle  it  again. 

My  next  drive  was  in  1867.  I took  a herd  of  horses  to 
Kansas  and  on  to  Waterloo,  Iowa.  This  time  1 had  as  a 
financial  partner  L.  W.  Mitchell.  The  horses  cost  us  $10.00 
per  head.  We  made  a profit  and  were  pleased  with  our  re- 
sults. In  the  year  of  1871,  1 drove  with  Dock  Day  a herd 
of  steers  from  San  Marcos  to  Red  Cloud,  Nebraska,  where 
we  concluded  to  winter.  This  was  my  first  bad  set-back, 
for  the  winter  was  the  worst  I ever  saw  or  heard  of,  the 
country  froze  over  early  in  November  and  never  thawed 
until  spring.  Our  cattle  literally  starved  to  death,  snow  cov- 
ered the  grass  and  the  water  froze  so  they  could  not  drink. 
I left  there  in  the  spring,  a busted  and  disgusted  cowman.  1 
have  never  been  back  to  that  particular  country  and  have 
tried  all  these  years  to  forget  it,  but  the  memories  of  that 
dreadful  experience  will  forever  remain  with  me. 

In  1876,  I drove  a herd  for  Ellison  & Dewees.  That  year 
about  40,000  head  of  cattle  were  put  on  the  trail,  known 
as  the  Western  Trail.  This  was  real  experience;  we  started 
from  San  Antonio  over  an  unknown  route  and  where  no  road 
or  trail  was  to  be  followed.  We  were  the  pioneers  who 
made  the  first  tracks  that  marked  the  Western  Trail.  We 
reached  Ogallala,  Neb.,  after  about  three  months  straight 
drive,  passing  through  some  hard  country  and  often  forced 
to  go  long  distances  without  water.  Food  was  an  object  but 
we,  of  course,  managed  to  get  by.  In  all  my  trail  driving  I 
was  fortunately  never  molested  by  bandits  or  thieves.  I had 
men  with  me  that  were  dependable  and  with  their  assistance 
I made  what  I called  a success.  Our  meals  consisted  of  just 
whatever  we  could  find  that  would  do  to  eat.  In  1878  I 
took  a herd  from  Bob  Stafford’s  ranch  near  Columbus  to 
Dakota,  this  time,  for  Ellison  & Sherrell,  and  my  experience 
was  about  as  is  usually  encountered  on  such  drives.  Then 


426 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


in  1879,  I took  an  interest  in  a herd  and  drove  over  the 
same  ground.  Was  successful  beyond  my  fondest  expecta- 
tions. The  profits  were  not  much  but  it  was  in  the  days 
when  a little  money  looked  like  a whole  lot. 

After  that  I bought  and  sold  cattle  in  a small  way  in  and 
around  East  Texas,  often  shipping  to  West  Texas  and  sell- 
ing cattle  to  stock  the  western  range.  In  1880  I went  into 
the  ranch  business  in  Tom  Green  county  and  ranched  there 
for  about  two  years,  being  associated  with  W.  D.  Kincaid. 
In  1882  we  moved  to  Haymond  in  Brewster  county,  where 
we  ranched  until  1898.  While  there  the  firm  name  was 
Combs  & Kincaid  Brothers,  being  composed  of  D.  S.  Combs, 
W.  D.  Kincaid  and  J.  M.  Kincaid.  We  sold  out  to  E.  O. 
Lochausen  and  in  1900  I bought  our  present  ranch  which  is 
located  at  Marathon,  Brewster  county,  Texas,  where  my  son, 
Guv  S.  Combs,  has  managed  the  same  for  the  Combs  fam- 
ily, all  being  partners  in  the  ranch. 

The  greatest  pleasure  1 have  is  in  thinking  of  many  of  my 
experiences  and  in  meeting  and  remembering  the  cow  men 
of  Texas.  My  association  with  them  has  always  been  a real 
pleasure  and  when  1 have  the  good  fortune  of  attending  the 
Annual  Round-up,  the  pleasure  it  gives  me  to  meet  with  the 
familiar  faces  and  shake  hands  with  the  boys  is  worth  a great 
deal  more  than  it  costs  any  of  us  to  keep  the  Association  alive. 


EXPERIENCES  OF  THE  TRAIL  AND  OTHERWISE. 

By  M.  J.  Ripps,  San  Antonio,  Texas. 

There  are  “a  great  many  ways  of  killing  a dog  without 
choking  him  on  butter,”  as  the  old  saying  goes.  In  handling 
cattle  there  are  also  many-  different  ways  which  may  lead  to 
the  same  result;  and,  again  one  way,  or  cause,  may  lead  to 
many  and  varied  results. 

No  doubt  many  of  my  old-time  friends  and  cattle  punchers 
have  here  related  their  experiences  handling  cattle  on  the 
trail  in  a graphic  and  interesting  way;  but  as  there  are  so 
many  “spooks  and  ghosts”  to  play  Hail  Columbia  with  cattle 
1 shall  take  the  liberty  of  adding  a few  of  the  experiences 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


427 


that  I was  privileged,  or  “forced”  to  go  through  with,  for 
the  benefit  of  the  younger  set  of  cow-boys,  and  our  dear 
friends,  the  readers. 

A river  changes  its  course  in  the  course  of  time;  likewise, 
the  channels  of  trade  are  changed  with  the  passing  of  the 
days,  which  the  following  trip  will  illustrate. 

I think  it  was  about  February  10,  1876,  that  J.  W. 
Schelcher,  Dick  McRae,  Manuel  Cuero  and  I,  with  Louis 
Enderle  as  our  foreman,  went  into  Frio  county,  Texas,  and 
gathered  about  1000  head  of  cattle  and  brought  them  up  to 
the  Trueheart  ranch  on  the  San  Antonio  river.  Here  we  fin- 
ished the  herd  by  adding  another  800  head.  This  herd  was 
the  Joe  Shiner  property,  and  right  here  will  state  how  these 
cattle  were  bought.  Cattle  were  always  bought  by  the  head, 
and  the  price  per  head  varied  according  to  the  age  and  class 
of  animal.  There  were  no  cattle  sold  “over  the  scale,”  and 
platform  scales  for  this  purpose  were  not  even  dreamed  of 
as  a medium  in  the  sale  of  cattle.  Now,  in  gathering  these 
cattle  on  different  ranches  we  came  across  cattle  that  had 
strayed  from  other  ranches,  and  their  owner  not  being  pres- 
ent, we  would  send  him  word  that  we  had  one  steer,  a cow, 
or  a number  of  his  cattle  as  the  case  may  have  been,  and 
paid  him  the  prevailing  price.  This  was  within  the  law  and 
in  use  quite  generally.  Cattle  that  had  no  brand  or  mark 
— well,  that  was  not  our  fault.  But  it  is  remarkable  the  way 
these  cattle  persisted  in  following  the  herd.  Naturally  our 
sympathy  was  with  them.  The  ranches  where  we  gathered 
the  cattle  had  some  very  wild  stock — outlaws,  and  to  get 
them  called  for  strategy  and  cunning.  These  outlaw  cattle 
would  generally  graze  to  themselves  and  come  to  water  at 
night,  especially  if  they  scented  danger  or  having  seen  a hu- 
man being.  There  was  a price  on  their  head  of  $2.00  for  a 
big  steer,  $1.50  for  a cow,  and  from  there  on  down  to  50 
cents  per  head  delivered  in  the  herd.  To  accomplish  this 
we  would  watch  around  the  watering  places  on  moonlight 
nights  and  rope  them.  This  netted  us  more  money  than  we 
were  able  to  make  “by  the  month.”  After  we  had  roped 
an  animal  we  would  lead  or  drag  him  into  the  herd,  or  other- 
wise we  would  tie  the  animal  down,  and  after  we  had  sev- 


428 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


eral  of  them  tied  we  would  bring  a bunch  of  cattle  to  where 
we  had  them  and  turn  them  into  the  bunch  and  with  the 
bunch  bring  them  into  the  main  herd.  This  was  great  sport 
and  it  was  very  dangerous  as  well. 

We  started  the  1800  head  and  got  as  far  as  Goat  Creek, 
north  of  Kerrville  without  any  serious  trouble.  We  herded 
them  at  night  in  three  reliefs,  and  generally  kept  five  horses 
under  saddle  all  night  in  case  of  emergency.  One  night  I 
was  herding,  and  about  midnight  a bunch  of  wild  hogs  ran 
into  the  herd  and  stampeded  the  cattle.  We  were  camped 
near  a field  close  to  a big  flat,  or  prairie.  The  cattle  headed 
for  a lane,  with  me  in  the  lead  unable  to  hold  them.  The 
boys  at  camp  heard  the  noise  and  came  to  my  assistance, 
and  were  able  then  to  control  them.  We  lost  only  one 
steer  which  was  crippled  in  the  back.  At  the  head  of  the 
Pedernales  river  we  killed  a calf  for  fresh  meat  for  the  men 
in  camp.  An  old  bull  smelled  the  blood  and  started  bellow- 
ing and  pawing  the  ground — he  made  a great  to-do  about  it; 
and  it  acted  as  a “war  whoop  does  to  the  braves.”  In  the 
stampede  that  followed  some  300  head  got  separated  from 
the  main  herd  and  ran  about  a mile;  we  overtook  them  to- 
wards morning  and  brought  the  whole  herd  together  without 
losing  any.  From  there  on  to  Fort  McKavett  we  did  not 
have  any  more  trouble.  Here  I quit  the  herd,  as  I was  of- 
fered a better  proposition. 

A second  herd  was  started  by  Joe  Shiner  in  1878  with 
Louis  Enderle  as  foreman  and  the  same  crew  as  on  the 
previous  trip;  besides  he  had  three  or  four  darkies  with  the 
herd.  I joined  them  at  San  Antonio,  bound  for  Kansas  City. 
We  had  a stampede  on  a creek  near  Kerrville,  and  it  took  us 
half  of  next  day  to  round  up  the  100  head  that  had  scat- 
tered. In  Coleman  county  Joe  Shiner  sold  the  herd  to  Bill 
Fraser  and  we  delivered  the  cattle  at  Wichita,  Kansas. 

Another  trip  in  1898,  I recall,  when  Manuel  Lopez,  Little 
Pete  Tafolla  and  I,  and  a little  boy  leading  the  pack  horse, 
went  to  Wetmore,  Texas,  and  with  the  assistance  of  the 
Classen  Bros,  rounded  up  300  head  of  steers.  We  were  to 
meet  a bunch  of  600  steers  en  route  overland  from  Hondo, 
throw  the  two  bunches  together  and  take  them  to  the  feed 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


429 


pens  at  Seguin,  Texas,  for  Short  & Saunders.  However, 
after  I had  my  300  head  gathered  I received  word  to  take 
them  to  Austin  and  deliver  to  John  Sheehan,  as  he  had 
bought  them.  The  first  night  we  made  New  Braunfels, 
Texas,  but  could  get  no  pens.  An  old  German  sold  us  a load 
of  corn-fodder  and  some  corn  for  our  horses,  so  we  herded 
all  night  in  the  open.  The  second  night  we  penned  them  in 
the  railroad  pens  at  San  Marcos  and  took  them  out  on  the 
prairie  next  morning.  Our  cattle  stampeded,  running  across 
a cornfield,  but  being  in  November  did  not  do  any  damage. 
The  herd  reached  Kyle,  Texas,  about  noon  and  we  stopped 
to  cook  a meal.  A man  rode  up  and  asked  if  we  needed  any 
help;  we  were  more  than  glad  to  hire  him,  and  asked  him 
about  a pen  for  the  night  at  Buda,  Texas.  He  said  there  was 
only  one  pen,  and  it  was  engaged  for  the  night.  This  made 
us  feel  bad,  and  we  were  thinking  of  sending  a man  ahead  to 
arrange  for  some  place  for  us  to  stop.  Our  visitor  spoke 
up  and  said  that  he  had  engaged  the  pen  he  spoke  of,  and 
that  he  had  been  sent  out  by  John  Sheehan  to  meet  us.  That 
afternoon  a passing  train  stampeded  our  herd  but  we  checked 
them  in  a lane.  We  penned  at  Buda  that  night  and  next  day 
headed  for  Austin.  When  we  got  to  the  Colorado  River  we 
found  it  on  a rise.  We  were  not  allowed  to  cross  the  cattle 
on  the  bridge,  so  we  had  to  swim  for  it.  Two  of  my  men 
stayed  with  me,  and  the  third,  a “cold-footer,”  crossed  on 
the  bridge.  The  cattle  swam  across  all  right  and  were  de- 
livered as  ordered,  without  being  any  short. 

One  winter  George  Saunders  and  Ripps  were  feeding  1800 
head  of  cattle  in  their  pens  at  San  Antonio,  and  these  cattle 
had  to  be  guarded  at  night.  One  night  a Mexican  named 
Victorian  and  myself  were  herding  when  the  cattle  broke  the 
fence  for  a distance  of  100  yards.  The  cattle  ran  in  a 
southerly  direction  sweeping  Victorian’s  horse  with  them. 
The  cattle  ran  some  five  miles,  with  me  in  the  lead  and  un- 
able to  check  them.  They  finally  broke  into  a pasture  where 
I was  able  to  turn  them  and  stayed  with  them  until  daylight 
when  relief  came.  The  other  relief  man  who  did  not 
stampede  with  the  cattle,  did  not  show  up  until  next  day. 
Twelve  men  came  out  to  help  me  bring  back  the  cattle  and 


430 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


it  was  some  job.  There  were  seven  head  missing  next  morn- 
ing. 

In  1880  and  1881  I went  on  a trail  of  a different  nature 
by  becoming  a member  of  a surveying  outfit  to  blaze  the  right 
of  way  for  the  Southern  Pacific  Railway  from  San  Antonio 
west  to  the  Rio  Grande  River.  Two  men  joined  the  outfit 
with  me  at  San  Antonio,  and  the  crew  consisted  of  seventeen 
men.  We  surveyed  as  far  as  Uvalde,  when  we  got  orders 
to  arm  ourselves  and  keep  our  eyes  “peeled”  for  Indians. 
This  was  too  much  for  the  two  men  who  had  joined  with  me, 
and  so  they  quit.  We  continued  the  survey,  and  were  about 
128  miles  west  of  San  Antonio  when  the  government  sent 
twenty  soldiers  to  us,  as  an  escort.  At  the  Nenecatchie  Moun- 
tains we  had  our  first  experience  with  the  redskins.  They 
came  in  the  night  and  tried  to  steal  our  mules  and  horses  by 
stampeding  them.  We  had  our  guards,  or  outposts,  stationed 
some  distance  from  camp  and  they  exchanged  shots  but  none 
of  our  men  were  hurt.  At  San  Felipe,  on  the  Rio  Grande, 
Rangers  took  the  place  of  the  soldiers,  and  acted  as  our  pro- 
tectors. While  we  were  camped  at  the  McKenzie  Crossing  on 
the  Rio  Grande  River,  the  Indians  made  another  attempt  to 
get  our  horses  but  were  routed  by  the  Rangers.  From  there 
on  we  did  not  see  any  more  Indians  until  we  came  to  Eagle’s 
Nest,  on  the  Rio  Grande.  We  were  camped  some  350  feet 
above  the  level  of  the  river  bed,  and  were  cutting  out  a trail 
wide  enough  for  a burro  to  pass  with  a cask,  or  small  barrel 
on  either  side,  to  transport  water  from  the  river.  We  had 
stopped  for  the  noon  hour  when  we  noticed  nine  Indians, 
seven  bucks  and  two  squaws.  They  had  evidently  descended 
to  the  river  bottom  some  miles  above  and  were  wending 
their  way  to  a point  directly  in  front  of  us,  where  they  could 
get  to  the  water.  They  were  coming  in  single  file,  some  ten 
feet  apart,  and  were  in  full  war  paint,  the  Indian  in  the  rear 
being  the  guard.  ‘ The  eight  went  to  water  to  satisfy  their 
thirst,  while  one  stood  guard.  Then  the  guard  went  to  drink 
while  one  of  the  squaws  stood  guard,  and  she  spied  us,  as  we 
could  tell  from  her  gestures.  When  she  gave  the  alarm  they 
took  to  their  horses  and  disappeared  up  the  river.  As  we 
were  not  looking  for  trouble  we  did  not  fire  at  them,  but 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


43 1 


doubled  our  guards  to  protect  against  an  attack  from  the 
rear. 

Our  next  camp  was  at  Painted  Cave.  One  night  we  sent 
our  mules  and  horses  out  to  grass  with  two  guards  in  charge. 
Indians  crept  up  and  tried  to  scare  the  animals.  One  of  the 
guards  finding  that  something  was  not  right,  gave  the  alarm 
and  the  fire  works  started.  We  fired  some  thirty  or  forty 
shots,  and  one  of  the  guards  claimed  he  got  an  Indian.  This 
Painted  Cave  is  worth  a trip  to  see.  It  is  a big  opening  under 
a protruding  boulder,  large  enough  for  ten  men  to  ride  into 
on  horeback  at  one  time.  Its  inner  walls  are  decorated  with 
Indian  paintings  of  wild  animals,  lions,  tigers,  buffaloes,  etc., 
and  all  the  sign  language  on  the  walls — some  of  which  we 
would  not  understand  if  they  were  played  on  a phonograph. 
Besides  this  it  contains  the  autographs  of  some  of  the  pio- 
neers carved  in  the  rock,  whose  carvers  have  long  since 
started  on  the  “long  trail.”  I was  told  by  a friend  of  mine 
the  other  day,  who  had  been  there  lately,  that  he  ran  across 
my  name,  carved  there  at  that  time — forty  years  ago. 

I was  born  December  5,  1858,  in  the  old  Ripps  homestead 
in  the  western  part  of  San  Antonio  on  the  property  where 
Geo.  W.  Saunders  fed  cattle  for  many  years. 

The  only  thing  that  is  left  to  remind  us  of  the  olden  days 
is  the  barbecue.  In  preparing  barbecued  meats  I gained 
some  proficiency,  and  have  been,  and  am  called  on  a num- 
ber of  times  a year  to  superintend  these  honest-to-goodness 
barbecues.  What  is  there  nicer  than  a nice  slice  of  barbecue, 

and  a (if  Volstead  wasn’t  so  bad  in  figuring  percentage) 

little  of  2.75  plus — 

If  a bunch  of  stockmen  get  together,  you  can  rest  assured 
there  is  going  to  be  a barbecue  somewhere.  A number  of 
times  at  their  different  conventions  and  gatherings  I have  had 
from  1500  to  2000  pounds  of  meat  roasting  over  the  hot 
coals,  and  I believe  to  their  satisfaction. 


432 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


SKETCH  OF  COL.  J.  F.  ELLISON. 

By  His  Son,  J.  F.  Ellison,  Jr.,  Fort  Cobb,  Okla. 

My  father,  Colonel  J.  F.  Ellison  was  born  in  Winston 
county,  Miss.,  November  6,  1828,  and  moved  to  Caldwell 
county,  Texas,  in  1850,  settling  on  the  San  Marcos  River 
a few  miles  west  of  Prairie  Lea  where  he  lived  until  the 
Civil  War  came  on,  and  at  the  beginning  of  the  war  in  1 86 1 
he  answered  his  country’s  call,  leaving  behind  him  an  humble 
noble  Christian  woman  with  five  little  children,  the  writer 
being  one  of  them.  For  four  long  years  he  was  engaged  in 
the  great  struggle,  returning  home  in  1865,  like  most  of  the 
other  true  Confederate  soldiers,  a bankrupt,  with  nothing  left 
but  the  faithful  wife  and  five  children.  With  turning  plow, 
an  old  fashioned  sweep  and  a yoke  of  oxen  he  went  to  work 
to  try  and  make  a living  for  himself  and  those  dependent 
upon  him. 

I think  the  first  cattle  that  were  driven  from  Texas  to 
northern  markets  was  in  1867.  In  1869  father  bought  and 
gathered  about  75o  head  of  mixed  cattle,  all  kinds  from 
calves  to  grown  cows,  and  started  them  up  the  trail.  He 
bought  these  cattle  on  credit  to  be  paid  for  on  his  return.  1 
accompanied  him  on  this  trip  and  we  went  to  Abilene,  Kan- 
sas, crossing  the  Colorado  at  Webersville  and  going  by  way 
of  Fort  Worth.  We  followed  the  old  Fort  Arbuckle  trail 
through  the  eastern  part  of  Indian  Territory,  now  the  splendid 
state  of  Oklahoma,  and  of  which  I am  today  a citizen.  All 
the  trouble  we  had  with  the  Indians  was  their  begging  for 
something  to  eat.  We  found  that  if  you  fed  them  at  meal 
time  you  could  count  on  them  being  right  there  the  next  time 
your  chuck  was  set  out.  After  disposing  of  our  cattle 
and  outfit  we  came  back  through  Mississippi,  where  father 
was  raised,  and  from  there  to  Galveston  by  boat  from  New 
Orleans.  This  was  my  first  experience  on  a boat  and  it  made 
an  impression  on  me  that  I will  never  forget.  I didn’t  want 
any  breakfast  next  morning. 

This  trip  proved  to  be  a profitable  one.  After  paying  for 
the  cattle  as  soon  as  he  returned  home,  father  had  $9,000 
cash,  which  was  a lot  of  money  in  those  days.  He  drove 
again  in  1870,  and  after  returning  home  that  year  Colonel 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


433 


John  O.  Dewees,  then  of  Atascosa  county,  who  was  an  old 
soldier  comrade  with  father,  wrote  him  that  he  would  sell 
him  all  the  cattle  on  time  he  wanted,  so  the  next  year  he 
bought  about  2,000  grown  beef  steers  from  Col.  Dewees  and 
drove  them  in  two  herds.  He  contracted  these  steers,  or  a part 
of  them  to  a man  named  Powers  to  be  delivered  at  his  ranch 
on  Smokey  River  between  Ellsworth  and  Abilene,  Kansas, 
at  two  and  a half  cents  per  pound.  They  weighed  about  a 
thousand  pounds  each.  This  was  a hard  year,  and  but  for  this 
deal  he  would  have  lost  money.  Soon  after  this  father  and 
Colonel  Dewees  became  partners  in  driving  cattle  over  the 
trail,  which  partnership  continued  until  1877,  and  was  quite 
satisfactory  all  around. 

Father  followed  trail  driving  for  thirteen  years,  the  last 
cattle  he  drove  being  in  1882. 

In  1876  Ellison  & Dewees  and  Millett  and  Maberry  drove 
together  and  they  drove  from  South  and  Southwest  Texas 
fully  100,000  cattle  to  the  northern  markets,  delivering  some 
of  them  as  far  north  as  the  Black  Hills  in  North  Dakota. 

Father  died  November  13,  1904,  at  his  home  in  San  Mar- 
cos. He  followed  the  cattle  business  until  1880  with  great 
success,  but  in  that  year  he  met  with  reverses  which  he  never 
fully  overcame.  He  was  known  to  all  of  the  old  trail  men 
and  the  hands  of  that  time,  and  was  held  in  highest  esteem 
by  all  with  whom  he  came  in  contact. 


SIXTY-EIGHT  YEARS  IN  TEXAS. 

By  Pleasant  Burnell  Butler,  Kenedy,  Texas. 

I was  born  in  Scott  county,  Mississippi,  in  1848,  being 
the  eleventh  child  of  Burnell  Butler,  who  was  born  in  Ken- 
tucky in  1805,  and  Sarah  Ann  Ricks,  born  in  North  Caro- 
lina in  1811. 

In  1849  my  oldest  brother,  Woodward,  then  a youth  of 
twenty  years  left  the  home  in  Mississippi  to  seek  out  a new 
location  for  the  family.  He  crossed  the  Mississippi  River 
into  Louisiana,  where  he  remained  long  enough  to  make  a 
crop,  and  selling  out,  journeyed  on  until  he  reached  Karnes 


434 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


county,  then  a part  of  Goliad  county,  in  1850,  where  he 
stayed  on  a tract  of  land  that  is  now  the  Pleasant  Butler 
homestead,  near  the  San  Antonio  River. 

In  September,  1852,  father  sold  out  in  Scott  county,  Miss- 
issippi and  started  to  join  my  brother  in  Texas.  I was  at  that 
time  four  years  old,  but  remember  distinctly  the  start  for 
Texas,  father  and  mother,  twelve  children,  and  seven  negro 
slaves,  traveling  in  covered  wagons,  each  drawn  by  two  yoke 
of  oxen,  mother  driving  a hack  with  a team  of  big  horses, 
and  father  riding  a fine  saddle  horse.  I recall  clearly  a stop 
made  near  Jackson,  Miss.,  to  bid  good-bye  to  my  aunt,  Mrs. 
Porter,  and  how  my  aunt  drove  down  the  road  with  us  in  a 
great  carriage  with  a negro  driver  on  a high  seat  in  front — a 
barouche  of  the  real  old  South. 

We  crossed  the  Mississippi  River  at  Natchez,  where  the 
high  red  banks,  down  which  they  drove  to  the  ferry  boats 
that  carried  us  across  the  great  river,  made  an  impression  on 
my  childish  mind  that  has  never  been  effaced. 

When  the  family  reached  the  spot  on  the  wild  prairie 
lands  where  the  town  of  Nordheim  now  stands,  we  camped 
under  a great  live  oak  tree,  the  only  tree  in  miles  to  break 
the  prairie  lands  about  us.  Father  and  mother  drove  ahead 
in  the  hack  to  find  Woodward  in  his  camp  on  the  San  An- 
tonio River,  and  to  send  him  back  to  meet  us  as  we  came 
on  with  the  wagons.  He  met  us  the  next  evening,  Decem- 
ber 24,  1852,  on  the  banks  of  the  Eclato. 

The  new  country,  with  its  wide  prairies,  its  wonderful 
grasses  and  abundance  of  game  became  the  home  of  the  But- 
ler family.  I recall  that  my  brother  could  go  out  in  the 
evening  when  the  sun  was  a quarter  of  an  hour  high  and 
bring  in  a deer  by  nightfall.  Turkeys  also  were  plentiful. 

In  the  spring  of  1853  father  cleared  fourteen  acres  of  brush 
land,  pushing  the  brush  back  to  make  a fence,  and  planted 
corn.  He  harvested  700  bushels  of  corn  or  fifty  bushels  per 
acre.  Also  that  spring  he  leased  a part  of  the  Stafford  & 
Selmer  tract  of  land  and  bought  cattle.  He  gave  a small 
heifer  to  me,  from  which,  up  to  the  year  1862,  I raised 
eighteen  head.  But  in  1863  came  a great  drouth  and  my 
cattle  diminished  to  one  small  steer. 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


435 


D.  S.  COMBS 


L.  B.  ALLEN 


436 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


In  November,  1863,  Woodward,  who  had  led  the  family 
into  the  new  home  and  blazed  the  trail  for  their  future  pros- 
perity, drove  to  Port  Lavaca  to  bring  the  winter’s  supply  of 
groceries.  While  there  he  contracted  yellow  fever  and  died. 

The  years  wore  on  and  the  great  war  between  the  North 
and  the  South  shook  even  this  remote  corner  of  the  coun- 
try. I remember  seeing  great  wagons,  drawn  by  twelve  steers, 
hauling  cotton  to  Mexico,  where  it  brought  fifty  cents  a 
pound.  Flour  was  not  available  at  $26.00  per  barrel,  and 
corn  in  various  ways  became  the  staple  diet.  In  1862  my 
brother,  W.  G.  Butler,  who  had  joined  the  army,  was  sent 
home  to  gather  a bunch  of  cattle  for  the  Arkansas  post.  1 
was  then  a youth  of  fourteen  and  went  along  to  the  Hickok 
pens,  near  Oakville,  where  the  cattle  men  had  assembled 
500  head  which  were  headed  at  once  for  Arkansas,  t helped 
to  drive  them  as  far  as  Pecan  Springs,  near  the  present  town 
of  San  Marcos,  where  I bade  my  brother  good-bye  and  re- 
turned home. 

In  1863  came  the  great  drouth.  The  Nueces  and  San  An- 
tonio Rivers  became  mere  trickling  threads  of  water  with 
here  and  there  a small  pool.  The  grass  was  soon  gone  and 
no  cattle  survived  except  those  that  had  previously  drifted 
across  the  Nueces  River  on  to  a range  that  was  not  so  severe- 
ly affected  by  the  drouth.  In  1864  came  rains  and  plentiful 
grass,  and  a search  for  drifted  cattle  was  organized.  All  the 
young  able  bodied  men  were  in  the  army,  so  a party  of  forty- 
five  young  boys  and  old  men,  headed  by  Uncle  Billy  Ricks, 
of  Oakville,  went  to  San  Diego  to  the  ranch  of  Benito  Lopez, 
from  which  point  they  worked  for  a month  rounding  up  cat- 
tle and  cutting  out  those  of  their  own  brands.  Every  week 
a herd  was  taken  across  the  river  and  headed  for  home  and 
in  this  way  500  head  were  put  back  on  the  ranges  of  Karnes 
county  where  thousands  had  grazed  before  the  drouth.  My 
steer  was  luckily  among  the  five  hundred. 

In  1868  W.  G.  Butler,  home  from  the  war,  drove  a herd 
to  Abilene,  Kansas,  to  market,  and  I went  along  as  far  as 
Gonzales.  This  fired  in  me  an  ambition  to  ride  the  whole 
trail  and  in  1870  I made  my  first  trip  through  to  Abilene 
in  the  outfit  of  my  brother.  The  trail  then  followed  lay 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


437 


along  the  line  from  Austin  to  Belton,  Valley  Mills,  Cleburne 
to  Fort  Worth,  which  at  that  time  boasted  of  a livery  stable, 
a court  house  and  a store  operated  by  Daggett  & Hatcher, 
supply  merchants  on  the  public  square,  through  which  we 
swung  our  great  herd  of  cattle.  At  Fort  Worth  it  was  neces- 
sary to  take  on  supplies  for  a month,  there  being  no  big 
stores  between  Fort  Worth  and  Abilene,  Kas.,  so  at  Dag- 
gett & Hatcher’s  we  purchased  flour,  coffee,  bacon,  beans 
and  dried  fruit,  three-quarter  pound  of  bacon  and  the  same 
of  flour  being  allotted  to  each  man  for  each  day. 

From  Fort  Worth  the  trail  ran  on  to  Gainesville,  crossed 
the  Red  River  and  from  there  our  outfit  went  up  Mud  Creek 
to  the  house  of  Bob  Love,  a Choctaw  Indian  from  whom 
we  had  to  obtain  passports  through  the  Indian  Territory.  1 
remember  that  Love  demanded  10c  a head  for  the  500  head 
in  the  herd  and  that  after  considerable  business  talk  we  com- 
promised, Love  accepting  a $20.00  gold  piece  and  in  return 
gave  the  necessary  papers.  From  Love’s  we  traveled  the 
Chisholm  trail,  crossed  the  South  Fork  of  the  Arkansas, 
through  the  Osage  country  into  Kansas. 

Along  the  trail  the  Indians  showed  great  interest  in  our 
party,  particularly  the  chuck  wagon.  Hospitality  had  to  be 
limited,  and  little  grass  grew  under  our  feet  through  this  part 
of  the  country. 

Buffalo  were  very  plentiful,  so  numerous  irr  fact  that  it 
was  necessary  to  ride  ahead  of  the  cattle  to  prevent  them 
from  cutting  into  the  herd.  I killed  four  buffalo  on  this  trip, 
using  only  my  six-shooter.  I had  little  use  for  the  sights  on 
a gun  and  shot  just  as  true  when  on  horseback  and  on  the 
dead  run  as  when  on  foot. 

In  1871  I started  for  Abilene  in  charge  of  an  outfit  of 
my  own  and  was  joined  at  Gainesville  by  several  other  herds, 
one  belonging  to  Columbus  Carrol,  of  Gonzales,  in  charge 
of  Jim  Cox;  one  of  Murphy  of  Victoria,  in  charge  of  Cap- 
tain Lynn;  and  one  of  Clark  & Woodward,  in  charge  of 
Judge  Clark.  This  time  we  were  to  travel  a new  trail, 
through  a more  open  country,  but  where  there  had  been 
no  previous  travel. 


438 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


We  crossed  the  river  at  Red  River  Station,  seventy-five 
miles  above  Gainesville,  where  an  Indian  named  Red  Blanket 
waited  to  pilot  us  through  the  new  country.  The  herds 
traveled  ahead  in  turn,  a day  at  the  time,  the  first  herd 
breaking  the  trail  for  those  following.  For  sometime  the 
trail  ran  along  Line  Creek,  which  lay  between  the  Osage 
and  Comanche  nations.  Red  Blanket  warned  us  that  if  we 

got  above  the  creek  the  Comanches  would  surely  kill  us. 

After  this  there  was  little  discussion  of  which  side  of  the 
creek  made  the  best  trail.  Reaching  Kansas  in  May,  our 
outfit  made  camp  on  the  Smoky  River,  twenty  miles  from 
Abilene  where  the  cattle  grazed  until  September,  when  they 
were  ready  for  market. 

1 made  four  trips  over  the  trail  to  market  my  steers,  and 
saw  many  miles  of  splendid  country,  but  nowhere  could  I 
see  the  prosperity  and  the  future  that  lay  in  my  own  part 
of  Texas.  So  in  18Z4,  when  Capt.  Tom  Dennis  bought 

the  7,000  acre  Jim  King  ranch,  now  known  as  the  Wilson 

ranch,  I bought  from  him  the  north  half  of  the  ranch  and 
paid  10%  interest  on  the  debt  until  it  was  paid.  The  next 
year  1 bought  one-half  interest  in  the  Burris  cattle  and  worked 
them  on  the  range. 

During  the  years  1874,  1875  and  1876  W.  G.  Butler 
and  I operated  on  the  range  together.  During  this  time 
we  sold  600  head  to  John  Belcher,  and  delivered  them 
at  Fort  Worth. 


In  the  fall  of  1876,  1 sold  my  interest  in  the  Wilson 
ranch  to  Coleman  and  Stokely,  also  all  my  cattle  I had  on 
the  range  at  that  time,  range  delivery. 

In  the  year  1877,  Coleman  and  Stokely  delivered  to  me 
2,200  head  of  steers,  yearlings  and  two’s,  for  payment  of 
the  cattle  I sold  them  on  the  range.  These  cattle  I rounded 
up,  and  started  up  the  trail,  but  on  my  arrival  at  Fort  Worth 
I found  a buyer  and  sold  out  to  him. 

In  1878,  I finished  receiving  cattle  from  Coleman  & 
Stokely,  and  bought  more  from  Sullivan  & Skidmore  to  make 
out  a herd  of  3,500  head,  and  again  started  up  the  trail  to 
Dodge,  Kansas,  going  through  several  storms,  and  enduring 
lots  of  hardships,  and  then  last  but  not  least,  could  not  find 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


439 


a market  for  the  cattle  at  Dodge,  so  I was  compelled  to 

make  the  drive  to  Ogallala,  Nebraska,  where  I sold  out. 

Arriving  home  in  September,  1878,  I began  laying  my 

plans  for  another  drive  up  the  trail.  In  February  the  fol- 

lowing year,  1879,  I began  receiving  3,500  from  Jim  Upton 
and  others,  getting  everything  in  readiness  for  the  drive.  I 
started  back  to  the  prairies  of  Nebraska  in  March  and  it  took 
me  three  months  to  make  the  drive.  I kept  my  cattle  under 
herd,  between  the  North  and  South  Platte  Rivers,  until  some 
time  in  August,  when  I sold  out. 

I then  started  my  camp  outfit  towards  good  old  Karnes 
county,  Texas,  arriving  home  in  September. 

1 was  married  to  Miss  Sarah  Elizabeth  Ammons  on  the 
1 4th  day  of  February,  1871.  She  was  the  eldest  daughter 
of  H.  R.  Ammons,  who  immigrated  from  Northern  Missis- 
sippi to  Karnes  county  during  the  dark  days  of  1850,  set- 
tling on  the  beautiful  San  Antonio  River,  near  the  town  of 
Helena.  To  this  happy  union  one  son  and  four  daughters 
were  born,  all  of  whom  are  living,  except  my  son  Burnell 
Butler,  who  died  in  1895.  My  daughters  all  reside  in 
Kenedy,  and  are  Mrs.  J.  W.  Russell,  Mrs.  Van  S.  Ingram,  Mrs. 
Geo.  H.  Tips  and  Mrs.  G.  G.  Ruhmann.  I also  have  twelve 
grandchildren. 


MY  FIRST  FIVE-DOLLAR  BILL. 

By  J.  L.  McCaleb,  Carrizo  Springs,  Texas. 

I went  up  the  trail  in  1868  with  a herd  for  Mitchell  & 
Dixon  of  Hays  county.  We  were  holding  our  herd  along  side 
of  an  old  rail  fence  at  the  Red  River  Station  crossing,  wait- 
ing for  a herd  to  cross.  1 was  in  front  (by  the  way  my 

place  was  always  in  front)  on  the  left  and  a good  place 

compared  to  the  boys  further  back  where  they  had  to  ride 
back  and  forth,  as  there  was  always  a muley  or  a one-eyed 
steer  leaving  the  herd  and  further  back  especially  the  rear, 
you  had  the  lazy  and  sore-footed  cattle  to  keep  moving.  The 
best  place  around  a herd  while  on  the  move,  that  is,  if  you 

want  to  keep  well  posted  in  cuss  words  is  the  tail.  At  times 


440 


THE  TRIAL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


the  boys  will  not  only  cuss  the  cattle,  but  cuss  each  other 
and  everything  else  in  sight  or  hearing. 

Now  about  my  first  $5.00  bill.  1 saw  a small  piece  of 
paper  in  a fence  corner,  and  as  the  cattle  seemed  quiet,  I 
got  down  and  picked  it  up,  simply  because  I was  hungry  for 
something  to  read,  if  not  more  than  one  or  two  words.  We' 
did  not  have  papers  forwarded  to  us  while  on  the  trail — 
well  I read  that  it  was  good  for  $5.00.  1 had  never  seen  one 

before,  so  after  crossing  our  herd  and  when  we  struck  camp 
for  dinner  1 showed  it  to  the  boss.  He  said  that  it  was  sure 
enough  good  money,  so  I rolled  it  up  and  stuck  it  away 
down  in  the  pocket  of  my  leather  leggins.  Money  was  of 
no  value  on  the  trail,  as  there  was  no  place  to  spend  it,  but 
I valued  that  $5.00  more  than  any  $5.00  I have  ever  had 
since.  One  day  while  at  dinner  the  negro  cook  offered  to  bet 
me  a two-year-old  heifer  he  had  in  the  herd  against  my  five 
dollars  that  he  could  beat  me  shooting,  only  one  shot  each. 
1 was  good  with  a pistol  but  1 knew  the  cook  was  hard  to 
beat.  But  I did  not  get  nervous  as  the  two-year-old  was 
about  six  to  one  if  1 won.  One  of  the  boys  got  a little 
piece  of  a board,  took  a coal  out  of  the  camp  fire,  made  a 
black  spot  about  the  size  of  a twenty-five-cent  piece,  stepped 
off  fifteen  steps  (about  45  feet)  and  yelled,  “All  ready,  shoot.” 
I was  to  shoot  first;  I jerked  my  old  cap  and  ball  Navy  out 
and  just  about  one  second  before  1 pulled  the  trigger  1 saw 
the  heads  of  six  Indians  just  over  a little  rise  in  the  ground 
coming  toward  the  camp.  This  excited  me  so  that  I did  not 
hit  the  spot,  only  about  one-half  of  my  bullet  touched  the 
board  just  to  the  right  of  the  target.  I yelled  to  the  negro, 
“Shoot  quick!  Look  at  the  Indians!”  By  that  time  we  could 
see  them  plainly  on  top  of  the  rise.  He  fired,  but  never 
touched  the  board.  So  six  big  Osage  Indians  saved  me  my 
valuable  find — the  five-dollar  bill. 

We  bedded  our  cattle  for  the  last  time  near  Abilene, 
Kansas.  The  boss  let  myself  and  another  boy  go  to  the 
city  one  day.  As  it  had  been  a long  time  since  we  had  seen 
a house  or  a woman,  they  were  good  to  look  at.  I wore 
a black  plush  hat  which  had  a row  of  small  stars  around 
the  rim,  with  buckskin  strings  to  tie  and  hold  on  my  head. 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


441 


We  went  into  town,  tied  our  ponies,  and  the  first  place  we 
visited  was  a saloon  and  dance  hall.  We  ordered  toddies 
like  we  had  seen  older  men  do,  and  drank  them  down,  for 
we  were  dry,  very  dry,  as  it  had  been  a long  ways  between 
drinks.  I quit  my  partner,  as  he  had  a girl  to  talk  to,  so 
I went  out  and  in  a very  short  time  I went  into  another 
store  and  saloon.  I got  another  toddy,  my  hat  began  to 
stiffen  up,  but  I pushed  it  up  in  front,  moved  my  pistol  to 
where  it  would  be  handy,  then  sat  down  on  a box  in  the 
saloon  and  picked  up  a newspaper  and  thought  I would  read 
a few  lines,  but  my  two  toddies  were  at  war,  so  I could  not 
very  well  understand  what  I read.  I got  up  and  left  for  more 
sights — you  have  seen  them  in  Abilene,  Dodge  and  any  other 
place  those  days.  I walked  around  for  perhaps  an  hour.  The 
two  toddies  were  making  me  feel  different  to  what  I had 
felt  for  months,  and  I thought  it  was  about  time  for  another, 
so  I headed  for  a place  across  the  street,  where  1 could  hear 
a fiddle.  It  was  a saloon,  gambling  and  dance  hall.  Here 
I saw  an  old  long-haired  fellow  dealing  monte.  I went  to 
the  bar  and  called  for  a toddy,  and  as  I was  drinking  it  a 
girl  came  up  and  put  her  little  hand  under  my  chin,  and 
looked  me  square  in  the  face,  and  said  “Oh  you  pretty  Texas 
boy,  give  me  a drink.”  I asked  her  what  she  wanted  and 
she  said  anything  I took,  so  1 called  for  two  toddies.  My, 
I was  getting  rich  fast — a pretty  girl  and  plenty  of  whiskey. 
My  old  hat  was  now  away  back  on  my  head.  My  boss  had 
given  me  four  dollars  spending  money  and  I had  my  five- 
dollar  bill,  so  I told  the  girl  that  she  could  make  herself 
easy;  that  I was  going  to  break  the  monte  game,  buy  out 
the  saloon,  and  keep  her  to  run  it  for  me  when  1 went  back 
to  Texas  for  my  other  herd  of  cattle.  Well  I went  to  the  old 
long-haired  dealer  and  as  he  was  making  a new  layout  1 
put  my  five  on  the  first  card  (a  king)  and  about  the  third 
pull  I won.  I now  had  ten  dollars  and  I thought  I had  better 
go  and  get  another  toddy  before  I played  again.  As  I was 
getting  rich  so  fast  I put  the  two  bills  on  a tray  and  won. 
Had  now  twenty  dollars,  so  I moved  my  hat  back  as  far  as 
it  would  go  and  went  to  get  a drink — another  toddy,  but 
my  girl  was  gone.  I wanted  to  show  her  that  I was  not 


442 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


joking  about  buying  out  the  saloon  after  I broke  the  bank. 
After  this  drink  things  did  not  look  so  good.  I went  back 
and  it  seemed  to  me  that  I did  not  care  whether  I broke 
him  or  not.  I soon  lost  all  I had  won  and  my  old  original 
five.  When  I quit  him  my  hat  was  becoming  more  settled, 
getting  down  in  front  and  I went  out,  found  my  partner  and 
left  for  camp.  The  next  morning,  in  place  of  owning  a 
saloon  and  going  back  to  Texas  after  my  other  herds,  I 
felt — Oh!  what’s  the  use?  You  old  fellows  know  how  I felt. 

The  winter  of  1868  was  spent  having  a good  cowboy 
time.  Wherever  my  horse,  saddle  and  hat  were  I was  there, 
spending  my  trail  money.  When  spring  came  on,  1 helped 
to  get  together  one  herd,  branded  a lot  of  mavericks  and 
sleepers.  But  there  was  a little  freckled  face  girl  that  1 had 
danced  a lot  with  in  the  winter  months,  so  I made  up  my 
mind  that  I would  stay  in  Texas  that  year,  1869.  I fiddled, 
danced  and  worked  cattle  over  a territory  as  big  as  the  state 
of  Maine.  A ranch  fifty  years  ago  was  not  measured  by 
acres  or  miles — they  were  boundless.  Schools  and  churches 
back  in  the  wild  days  were  not  handy  and  most  of  the  ranch- 
men and  cowboys  did  not  care.  No  mails,  no  papers,  neigh- 
bors miles  apart,  what  could  one  expect  from  such  a wild 
life?  We  would  civilize  up  a bit  when  we  went  to  a dance, 
that  is,  we  would  take  off  our  spurs  and  tie  a clean  red 
handkerchief  around  our  neck. 

I drove  beeves  from  the  W.  B.  G.  Grimes  pens  on  the 
Leona  to  Matagorda  Bay  in  the  winter  of  1869,  then  hired 
to  John  Redus  on  the  Hondo,  where  I finished  the  winter. 
In  the  early  spring  of  1870  I helped  him  get  together  2,000 
of  the  wildest  long-horns  that  was  ever  started  up  the  -trail. 
They  were  travelers  when  strung  out,  but  were  inclined  to 
stampede  in  front,  the  middle  or  rear.  It  did  not  take  us 
long  to  mill  them  if  in  an  open  country,  but  in  timber  that 
was  different.  1 took  sick  this  side  of  Waco  and  left  the 
herd  horseback  for  the  Redus  ranch  on  the  Hondo.  I punched 
cattle,  fiddled  and  danced  some  years  after,  getting  wilder 
all  the  time,  until  I met  a curly  headed  girl  in  Atascosa  coun- 
ty, fell  in  love  and  married.  It  took  her  a long  time  to 
tame  me.  But  she  did  and  for  the  last  fifteen  or  twenty 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


443 


years  I do  not  have  to  be  tied.  Just  drop  the  reins  on  the 
ground,  I’ll  stay  there. 


SLAKED  THEIR  THIRST  IN  A DRY  TOWN. 

By  A.  D.  McGehee,  San  Marcos,  Texas. 

I was  born  in  Hays  county,  four  miles  below  San  Marcos, 
October  17,  1857,  and  have  never  lived  out  of  this  county. 
I was  raised  on  a farm,  and  on  December  17,  1876,  I was 
married  to  Miss  Fannie  Johnson.  We  raised  six  children  to 
be  grown,  three  girls  and  three  boys,  and  we  think  they 
are  all  pretty  good  cattle,  but  do  not  know  if  they  are  much 
improvement  over  the  old  stock. 

I first  went  up  the  trail  in  1868,  when  I was  just  seven- 
teen years  old,  with  my  brother,  George  T.  McGehee.  We 
drove  from  Belton  to  Abilene,  Kansas.  The  trail  then  went 
by  the  village  of  Dallas,  crossed  the  Red  River  at  Colbert’s 
Ferry  near  where  Denison  is  now  located.  At  Abilene  I 
met  several  of  the  old  Texas  drivers,  among  them  being 
Colonel  Meyers  of  Lockhart,  Captain  E.  and  Lonnie  Millett 
of  Seguin,  Doc  Day,  and  others.  After  holding  the  cattle 
at  Abilene  for  about  thirty  days  we  shipped  them  over  the 
M.  P.  railroad  to  Springfield,  Illinois,  and  put  them  in  pastures 
belonging  to  W.  K.  and  Joe  McCoy,  who  were  commission 
merchants  and  sold  them  out  to  farmers  for  feeders.  I re- 
turned home  by  way  of  New  Orleans  that  fall,  taking  about 
two  weeks  to  make  the  trip. 

After  this  for  about  ten  years  I went  to  school  a little  and 
stayed  on  the  farm  until  1879,  when  I went  into  the  cattle 
business  altogether,  buying,  selling  and  ranching.  Started  a 
ranch  in  1883  in  Pecos  county  which  1 later  consolidated 
with  the  Toyah  Land  & Cattle  Co.,  of  which  M.  Locker  of 
Galveston  was  president.  Associated  with  me  in  this  com- 
pany was  J.  M.  Nance,  H.  Hillman,  W.  T.  Jackman  and 
W.  C.  Johnson.  Sold  out  in  1886  and  I with  Sam  Head 
and  Bill  Jackman  delivered  to  Ike  T.  Pryor  3200  cattle  at 
Brady  City  to  be  driven  to  Wyoming. 


444 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


In  1885  in  connection  with  Bill  Good,  H.  G.  Williams, 
Bunton  & Jackman,  I drove  9,000  cattle  from  the  Stafford 
ranch  in  Colorado  county  to  Trail  City,  Colorado. 

In  1886  I again  drove  to  Trail  City,  Colorado,  and  sold 
out  at  Pueblo.  From  that  time  up  to  1906  1 was  engaged  in 
feeding  and  handling  with  M.  A.  Withers  of  Lockhart  and 
H.  C.  Storey  of  San  Marcos. 

From  1906  I was  tax  collector  of  Hays  county  for  twelve 
years.  Since  that  time  I have  been  handling  a few  cattle, 
and  for  awhile  engaged  in  shipping  horses  north. 

I remember  a little  incident  that  happened  on  one  trip. 
I fell  in  with  D.  S.  Combs  and  about  daylight  one  morning 
we  unloaded  at  Burlington,  Iowa,  and  started  up  the  street 
to  get  breakfast  and  a toddy  was  suggested.  After  going 
up  the  street  some  distance,  not  knowing  that  Iowa  was  a 
dry  state  at  that  time,  we  stopped  on  the  corner  of  a street 
and  looked  about  as  strangers  would  do,  when  a man  stand- 
ing on  the  opposite  side,  without  asking  a word,  but  I think 
from  Comb’s  drouthy  look  sized  us  up  and  said:  “Go  back 
two  doors  and  go  in  a back  room  and  you  will  find  what 
you  are  looking  for.”  We  followed  directions  and  located. 


LIVED  IN  SAN  ANTONIO  AT  TIME  OF  WOLL’S 
INVASION. 

By  George  W.  West,  Jourdanton,  Texas. 

I was  born  in  Jefferson  county,  Texas,  March  5,  1835. 
My  father,  Claiborn  West,  was  one  of  the  signers  of  the 
Declaration  of  Texas  Independence.  1 entered  the  stock  busi- 
ness in  1854  in  Atascosa  county,  and  afterward  went  up  the 
trail  twice,  each  time  with  my  own  cattle;  endured  the  usual 
hardships,  but  was  not  molested  by  Indians  except  when 
passing  through  the  Territory,  where  the  Osage  tribe  de- 
manded toll  and  I gave  them  a few  steers.  I wintered  one 
of  my  herds  in  Nebraska  and  fattened  them  on  corn  which 
I bought  at  fifteen  cents  a bushel.  I sold  those  steers  for 
$5.00  per  hundred  pounds,  which  was  considered  a good 
price. 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


445 


I lived  on  the  San  Miguel  when  the  Indians  was  very  bad. 
One  night  we  had  our  saddle  horses  tied  in  the  yard  to  keep 
the  Indians  from  stealing  them  and  when  I went  out  at  day- 
light to  stake  them  out  they  were  gone,  but  moccasin  tracks 
showed  plainly  who  had  taken  them.  Notwithstanding  the 
fact  that  I had  two  dogs  in  the  yard  which  would  have  torn 
a man  to  pieces,  those  Indians  got  the  horses  without  arous- 
ing the  dogs. 

In  one  Indian  fight  in  which  1 was  engaged  I killed  one 
redskin  and  got  his  bow,  arrows  and  shield,  which  1 gave 
to  Frank  Hall,  a brother  of  Bill  Hall.  Frank  took  them 
to  Maine  and  gave  them  to  his  relatives. 

The  old  timers  living  on  the  San  Miguel  at  that  time 
were  L.  B.  Harris,  Alex,  Steve  and  Nat  Walker,  Jim  Lowe 
and  old  man  Pierce. 

I went  to  school  in  San  Antonio  in  1845,  when  Woll’s 
Mexican  army  came  and  occupied  the  town. 

Seven  years  ago  1 had  one  of  my  legs  amputated  just  above 
the  knee*  and  since  that  time  I have  had  to  occupy  an  in- 
valid’s chair.  My  wife  and  I are  living  with  our  daughter, 
Mrs.  Lula  West  Ray,  near  Jourdanton,  in  Atascosa  county. 


GOT  THEIR  NAMES  IN  THE  POT  FOR  SUPPER  AND 

BREAKFAST 

By  E.  M.  (Mac)  Storey,  Lockhart,  Texas. 

I was  born  in  Lockhart,  Caldwell  county,  Texas,  Decem- 
ber 12,  1857,  was  raised  here  and  served  as  mayor  of 
the  town  for  sixteen  years.  My  first  experience  in  handling 
cattle  began  when  I was  nineteen  years  old.  My  father  was 
not  a stockman  and  therefore  I did  not  grow  up  from  baby- 
hood handling  cattle.  After  my  school  days  were  over  I, 
with  others,  drove  a mule  team  hauling  freight  from  Lock- 
hart to  Austin,  and  down  to  the  coast.  In  1887  I started  on 
the  cattle  trail,  first  going  to  the  Erskin  pasture  in  Guadalupe 
county  to  get  the  cattle  for  Dewees  & Ellison,  and  gathered 
them  out  of  brush  so  thick  as  Green  (Pap)  Mills  said,  you 


446 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


could  hardly  stick  a knife  in  it.  Our  boss  was  N.  P.  (Uncle 
Nat.)  Ellison.  The  hands  with  us,  as  well  as  I remember, 
were  W.  M.  Ellison,  Green  Mills,  W.  F.  Fielder,  E.  F.  Hil- 
liard, John  Patterson,  Albert  McQueen  and  Asa  Jackson. 

We  had  no  serious  mishap  until  we  reached  Onion  Creek, 

where  we  had  a storm  and  stampede.  We  counted  next 
morning'  and  were  out  over  300  cattle  in  the  mountains  and 
the  mud,  but  we  soon  gathered  them  all  in  and  moved  on, 
getting  out  of  the  brush  at  Burnett  where,  we  rested  a half 
day.  When  we  reached  Red  River  at  Red  River  Station 
we  had  a stampede  one  night  which  was  caused  by  a pan- 
ther coming  into  camp  to  get  some  fresh  beef  we  had  on 
a line. 

In  1879  I went  with  William  Green  for  Bishop  & Head. 
We  gathered  our  herd  that  spring  at  Joe  Cotulla’s  ranch  in 
LaSalle  county,  and  delivered  them  to  Millett  & Erwin  on 
their  ranch  in  the  Panhandle,  after  which  R.  G.  Head  sent 
J.  R.  Saunders,  H.  F.  Mohle,  Billie  Gray,  Jim  Foster  and 
myself  to  Dodge  City,  Kansas,  to  cut  all  herds  that  came 
that  way.  We  had  two  pack  mules  and  seventeen  horses, 
and  when  we  reached  Pease  River  one  of  the  pack  mules 
layed  down  and  wallowed  with  his  pack,  turning  it  under 
his  belly,  so  when  he  got  up  he  stampeded  and  scattered 
clothes  and  blankets  everywhere.  We  finally  caught  him, 
gathered  up  our  plunder,  and  went  on  and  camped  on  a little 
creek  three  miles  south  of  the  Washita  River.  That  night 
we  had  an  awful  rain  and  had  to  move  to  higher  ground.  We 
devoured  all  of  our  grub  here,  expecting  to  overtake  one  of 
Ellison  & Dewees’  herds  before  this,  but  they  had  crossed 
the  Washita  the  day  before.  We  started  to  cross  while  the 
stream  was  on  a big  rise,  and  as  soon  as  our  loose  horses 
and  pack  mules  struck  the  swimming  water  they  turned 
down  stream.  Being  nearer  to  them  I jumped  my  horse 
into  it  and  he  did  not  try  to  swim  a lick,  so  I floated  him 
out  to  a sandbar  on  the  other  side,  and  lost  my  saddlebags 
and  all  of  my  clothes  except  those  I had  on.  When  we 
reached  the  Washita  it  was  also  on  a rampage  and  we  de- 
cided to  wait  until  the  next  morning  to  see  if  the  stream 
would  run  down,  but  the  next  day  it  was  higher  than  ever, 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


447 


so  we  roped  logs  that  were  floating  down  the  stream  with 
which  to  construct  a raft.  While  doing  so  Billie  Gray  roped 
a large  tree  top  and  it  pulled  him  into  the  river.  As  he 
could  not  swim,  I threw  him  the  end  of  my  lariat,  and 
thinking  he  had  failed  to  catch  it  I plunged  into  the  water 
to  go  to  him,  still  holding  my  rope.  Before  I came  up  I 
felt  him  pulling  on  it  and  when  I again  saw  him  he  was 
overhanding  the  rope  about  ten  or  fifteen  feet  from  me, 
so  1 caught  a willow  limb.  By*  that  time  he  reached  me, 
caught  me  around  the  neck  and  ducked  both  of  us.  I held  onto 
the  limb,  and  he  to  my  neck,  and  we  got  out  all  right,  but 
I lost  my  lariat.  Our  craft  got  water  soaked  and  we  had 
to  make  several  trips  with  it,  to  get  our  bedding  across.  I 
swam  that  river  seventeen  times  that  day  without  a bite  to 
eat,  and  had  had  nothing  the  day  before. 

The  third  day  we  rode  all  day  without  food  and  camped 
at  night  in  the  mud.  The  fourth  day  we  rode  as  fast  as  we 
could  and  decided  that  if  we  did  not  get  something  to  eat 
within  a very  short  time  we  would  kill  a horse  and  eat  him, 
but  about  one  o’clock  we  struck  fresh  herd  signs  and  then  we 
shoved  our  horses  and  pack  mules  to  the  limit.  I was  about 
200  yards  behind  the  other  boys  when  they  reached  the 
camp  of  one  of  D.  R.  Fant’s  herds  and  when  I got  there 
the  boys  were  still  on  their  horses.  They  informed  me  that 
the  boss  said  he  had  no  grub  to  spare,  as  he  did  not  have 
enough  to  last  him  until  he  reached  Dodge  City.  I remarked 
that  I would  just  as  soon  die  there  as  further  up  the  creek, 
and  that  1 was  going  to  eat  or  get  blood,  and  I meant 
every  word  of  it,  for  I did  not  intend  to  perish  from  starva- 
tion when  I could  smell  grub.  The  other  boys  were  in  the 
same  fix,  so  I felt  sure  they  would  stand  by  me.  I got  off 
my  horse,  walked  to  the  chuck  box  where  I found  some 
cold  corn-bread  and  fat  bacon,  and  ate  some  of  it,  went 
out  to  one  side  and  vomited  it  up.  We  tried  that  perform- 
ance several  times  before  we  could  get  the  grub  to  stay  with 
us.  The  cook  put  our  names  in  the  pot  for  supper  and 
breakfast,  and  the  boss  apologized  for  the  manner  in  which 
he  had  refused  to  give  us  anything  to  eat,  saying  he  thought 
perhaps  we  were  a bunch  of  horse  thieves,  as  we  had  so 


448 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


many  good  looking  horses,  and  was  afraid  to  encourage  us 
to  remain  near  for  fear  we  would  steal  his  horses  that  night. 
We  took  our  dinners  with  us  the  next  day  and  caught  the 
Ellison  herd  at  Wolf  Creek.  Joe  Ague  had  charge  of  it. 
We  stayed  with  him  two  days,  then  went  on  to  Dodge  City, 
where  I remained  and  cut  cattle  three  and  a half  months. 
Then  we  threw  all  of  the  cattle  we  had  cut,  about  600  head, 
in  with  one  of  Dewees  & Ellison’s  herds  and  went  from  there 
to  Ogallala,  Nebraska,  where  the  most  of  the  herd  was  sold  to 
Bosler  & Lawrence  on  the  North  Platte,  near  the  mouth  of 
Blue  Creek.  There  I was  employed  by  them  to  do  line 
riding  until  October.  We  gathered  a shipment  of  beef  cattle, 
crossed  the  river  at  Sidney  Bridge  and  went  to  Ogallala,  and 
from  there  with  them  to  Chicago,  when  I came  home  to 
Texas. 

In  1879  I went  up  with  L.  T.  Pierce  for  Bishop  & Head. 
In  1880  I went  with  Giles  Fenner  for  the  same  firm,  as  far 
as  Cheyenne,  Wyoming.  There  I received  a wire  from  Mr. 
Head  instructing  me  to  go  by  train  to  Ogallala  to  take  charge 
of  a range  herd  of  3,700  cattle.  In  about  two  months  he 
sold  them  and  I took  125  head  of  horses  to  Buffalo  Bill 
Cody’s  ranch  near  North  Platte  City,  then  took  the  train 
back  to  Ogallala  and  from  there  back  to  my  place  of  birth 
and  residence. 


SETTLED  ON  THE  FRONTIER  OF  TEXAS. 

Sketch  of  Ed  B.  English,  of  Carrizo  Springs,  Texas. 

Ed  English,  son  of  Captain  Levi  English,  was  born  in  De 
Witt  county,  Texas,  near  Yorktown,  April  7,  1852.  His 
mother  was  Matilda  Burleson,  a cousin  to  General  Edward 
Burleson,  and  also  a cousin  to  Joe  Hornsby,  who  lived  on 
the  Colorado  and  figured  in  the  frontier  history  of  the  state. 
She  was  a member  of  the  well  known  English  family  and 
was  likewise  a cousin  to  the  father  of  our  present  Postmaster 
General,  Albert  Sidney  Burleson. 

From  DeWitt  county  the  English  family  moved  to  Bexar 
county,  remaining  a short  while,  then  went  to  Atascosa 
county  and  settled  just  above  the  present  town  of  Pleasan- 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


449 


ton,  being  the  first  white  settlers,  along  with  Uncle  Sam 
Lytle’s  family,  to  locate  on  the  Medina  River  near  Von 
Ormy.  From  Atascosa  they  moved  to  Frio  county  in  i860 
and  settled  on  the  Leona  River.  While  they  were  living 
there  a band  of  300  Indians  made  a raid  in  that  section  and 
killed  several  white  men,  among  those  murdered  being  Len 
Eastwood  and  Jim  Saunders.  The  families  got  together, 
gathered  up  their  horses,  cattle  and  household  goods  and 
started  back  to  Atascosa.  On  the  road  close  to  a place 
known  as  the  Brand  Rock  about  fifty  Indians  threatened  to 
attack  them,  but  when  the  white  people  showed  fight  the 
savages  made  haste  to  depart.  The  people  remained  in 
Atascosa  about  a year  and  then  moved  back  to  their  homes 
in  Frio  county. 


At  a later  time  the  Indians  made  another  raid  in  that  sec- 
tion and  Captain  English,  with  ten  men  overtook  them  near 
where  Dilley  now  stands.  There  a desperate  engagement 
took  place  in  which  three  of  the  white  men  were  killed  and 
six  wounded.  Those  killed  were  Dan  Williams,  John  Eng- 
lish and  Dean  Oden.  The  only  man  living  today  who  was 
in  this  fight  is  Aulsie  Franks,  now  residing  at  Pleasanton. 
John  English  was  the  oldest  brother  to  the  subject  of  this 
sketch.  He  also  had  another  brother  accidently  killed  near 
Derby,  Texas. 


In  1865  Captain  English  moved  his  family  to  Carrizo 
Springs.  There  was  only  one  house  in  Dimmit  county  at  that 
time,  and  he  settled  three  miles  below  this  house  and  was  the 
founder  of  Carrizo  Springs  in  1869. 

One  day  in  July,  1866,  Ed  English,  with  his  little  brother, 
was  out  on  the  range  horse  hunting.  The  two  boys  were 
attacked  by  seven  Indians,  who  had  come  upon  them  un- 
awares. Ed  shot  one  of  their  horses,  and  the  Indians  closed 
in  upon  him,  shot  him  in  the  arm  and  knocked  his  gun  out 
of  his  hands.  An  Indian  made  a lunge  at  him  with  a lance, 
which  pierced  his  pistol  scabbard.  He  managed  to  pull  his 
pistol  and  killed  the  foremost  Indian  with  it,  then  the  other 
Indians  ran  to  the  fallen  brave  and  Ed  and  his  little  brother 
made  a dash  for  the  ranch,  with  three  Indians  following,  and 
in  the  chase  one  of  the  Indians  shot  Ed  in  the  back  with 


450 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


an  arrow.  The  boys  outdistanced  their  pursuers  and  reached 
home,  where  Captain  English  pulled  the  arrow  out,  and  found 
that  it  had  a long  steel  spike  on  the  end  of  it.  Ed  was 
layed  up  with  his  wounds  for  nearly  two  months. 

The  next  raid  the  Indians  made  was  in  1870.  A band  of 
about  200  swooped  down  on  the  ranch  of  Charles  Vivian, 
killed  a Mexican  and  captured  a Mexican  boy.  Before  they 
reached  the  Dave  Adams  ranch  the  Indians  met  a party  of 
five  cowboys,  Will  Bell,  Joe  Tumlinson,  Si  Hay,  John  Smith 
and  a Mexican.  As  they  were  greatly  out-numbered  the 
boys  had  to  retreat.  Adams  was  at  a pen  near  his  house 
when  the  Indians  came  up,  and  having  no  gun  with  him 
he  tried  to  gain  the  brush,  but  was  cut  off  and  killed  by  the 
savages.  The  alarm  was  spread  and  when  some  of  the  In- 
dians were  within  a half  mile  of  Carrizo  Springs  several  men 
went  out  and  engaged  them  in  battle,  but  were  driven  back.. 
Other  men  had  come  in  from  the  upper  region  and  got  around 
the  Indians  to  the  Adams  ranch  and  engaged  the  main  body 
in  a desperate  fight.  While  the  Indians  were  killing  Adams 
a wagonload  of  people  who  were  going  to  Carrizo  Springs 
drove  upon  the  scene.  They  were  Jack  McCurdy,  Jake  Burle- 
son, Pat  McCurdy,  Pleas  English  and  Mrs.  Levi  English.  They 
turned  the  wagon  and  ran  from  the  Indians  with  only  two 
following  them,  the  others  being  engaged  in  the  fight  with 
the  cowboys. 

Mr.  English  drove  his  first  cattle  up  the  trail  in  1872  to 
Wichita,  Kansas.  In  1873  he  drove  another  herd  to  Dodge 
City,  Kansas.  During  those  days  the  stockmen  formed  an 
association  and  all  worked  together  on  the  cow  hunts.  They 
sold  all  of  the  unbranded  yearlings,  then  known  as  mav- 
ericks, and  used  the  money  to  buy  provisions  for  the  cow 
hunts. 

When  Mr.  English  was  quite  a small  boy  he  had  a great 
desire  to  make  money,  so  he  took  a contract  to  herd  and 
shear  some  sheep,  for  which  he  received  five  dollars.  He  put 
that  money  aside  to  use  it  to  go  into  the  cattle  business.  One 
day  a cow  hunt  was  stopped  at  his  home,  and  they  had 
some  mavericks  which  they  were  going  to  auction.  So  Ed 
decided  that  was  his  chance  to  get  into  the  business.  Among 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


451 


the  number  to  be  auctioned  were  two  brown  heifer  yearlings, 
and  Ed  went  to  the  man  in  charge  and  asked  if  he  would  be 
permitted  to  bid.  The  old  man  told  him  he  could  do  so 
and  asked  how  much  money  he  had.  The  lad  proudly  re- 
plied, “five  dollars,”  and  told  him  how  he  had  obtained  it. 
About  thirty  men  were  there,  but  none  of  them  would  bid 
against  the  ambitious  boy,  so  he  got  the  two  yearlings  for 
four  dollars. 

Mr.  English  is  one  of  the  most  prominent  pioneer  charac- 
ters in  the  southwestern  part  of  the  state.  He  grew  up  on 
the  frontier,  and  was  raised  to  the  cattle  business  which  he 
has  followed  throughout  his  life,  making  his  home  in  Dimmit 
county  ever  since  those  early  days.  He  has  business 
interests  in  San  Antonio  also,  and  has  spent  a great  deal  of 
his  time  during  the  past  few  years  in  the  Alamo  City.  He 
has  a fine  ranch  of  15,000  acres,  beautifully  situated  on  the 
divide  between  the  Nueces  and  Rio  Grande  Rivers,  and 
stocked  with  high  grade  Hereford,  Durham  and  Red  Polled 
cattle, 

During  his  career  he  has  had  more  power  of  authority 
to  handle  cattle  than  any  other  man  in  his  part  of  the  state, 
that  power  extending  from  Brownsville  to  the  Conchos.  The 
last  settlements' he  made  were  with  Jim  Lowe,  Billie  Slaughter, 
Monte  and  Cal  Woodward,  Bill  Ward  and  Lease  Harris.  In 
his  cow  business  he  never  learned  how  to  block  a brand  or 
run  one  over.  He  never  handled  a wet  horse  because  he 
didn’t  need  him  in  his  business.  He  still  buys  and  trades  in 
cattle  and  when  he  wants  to  buy  a bunch  he  generally  goes 
to  see  George  W.  Saunders  at  the  Union  Stock  Yards  in  San 
Antonio,  for  he  is  a personal  friend  and  deals  on  the  square. 

Mr.  English  has  been  married  twice.  His  first  wife  was 
Mrs.  Margaret  English,  and  to  them  were  born  five  chil- 
dren. In  1886  he  married  Mrs.  Elizabeth  Brock.  They 
have  one  daughter,  Celestyne,  born  July  4,  1900 


452 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


SOME  THRILLING  EXPERIENCES  OF  AN  OLD  TRAILER 

By  L.  D.  Taylor,  429  Pruitt  Avenue,  San  Antonio,  Texas. 

In  the  spring  of  1869,  my  two  brothers,  Dan  and  George 
Taylor,  with  Monte  Harrell  rounded  up  a thousand  long-horn 
beeves,  four  to  twelve  years  old,  and  started  them  to  Kan- 
sas. 1 had  never  been  out  of  our  home  neighborhood  before, 
so  I went  along  to  get  some  experience  on  the  trail.  The 
herd  was  rounded  up  in  Gonzales  county,  about  where  the 
town  of  Waelder  is  now  located. 

We  swam  the  Trinity  at  Dallas,  where  our  herd  stampeded 
and  ran  through  the  streets  of  the  town,  creating  quite  a 
commotion.  The  damage  they  did  cost  us  about  two  hun- 
dred dollars. 

When  we  reached  Waco  the  Brazos  River  was  level  with 
its  banks,  and  we  had  to  swim  the  herd  across.  It  is  a won- 
derful sight  to  see  a thousand  steers  swimming  all  at  one 
time.  All  you  could  see  was  the  tips  of  their  horns  and  the 
ends  of  their  noses  as  they  went  through  the  water. 

Near  Waco  1 learned  some  law,  by  taking  two  rails  off 
a fence  for  firewood  with  which  to  cook  supper.  Was  glad 
to  get  off  by  paying  two  dollars  for  those  rails.  We  pro- 
ceeded on  to  the  Red  River,  which  we  crossed  and  traveled 
several  days  in  the  friendly  Indian  nation.  The  first  night 
there  we  rounded  up  the  herd,  but  next  morning  they  were 
gone,  for  they  had  been  stampeded  by  Indians  shooting 
arrows  into  them,  and  it  required  several  days  to  get  them  all 
together  again.  The  Indians  resorted  to  that  kind  of  a trick 
to  get  pay  for  helping  to  get  the  cattle  back  again.  When 
we  left  this  section  of  the  Indian  Territory  we  turned  our 
backs  to  civilization,  for  the  remainder  of  the  trip  was  to 
be  made  through  a wild,  unsettled,  hostile  country.  After 
a few  days’  travel  we  struck  the  Chisholm  trail,  the  only 
thoroughfare  from  Texas  through  the  Indian  Territory  to 
Kansas,  and  about  this  time  two  other  herds  fell  in  with  us, 
and  not  knowing  the  country  we  were  going  through  the 
three  outfits  agreed  to  stick  together,  stay  and  die  with  each 
other  if  necessary.  Ours  was  the  third  herd  that  had  ever 

traveled  that  trail.  We  had  plenty  of  stampedes,  and  one 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


453 


day  we  had  a run  just  after  crossing'  a swollen  stream.  I was 
with  the  chuck  wagon,  and  was  left  alone,  so  I just  kept 
right  on  traveling.  Late  that  evening,  after  I had  turned 
out  and  struck  camp  for  the  night,  my  brother  George  came 
up  and  told  me  the  herds  and  other  wagons  were  ten  miles 
behind.  He  gave  me  his  pistol  and  went  back  to  the  herd, 
and  I stayed  there  alone  that  night.  The  next  day  the  herd 
overtook  me,  and  I felt  somewhat  relieved. 

One  night  the  herd  was  rounded  up  about  a half  mile  from 
camp,  and  during  the  night  I was  awakened  by  the  shaking 
of  the  earth  and  an  awful  noise,  and  found  the  whole  herd 
coming  down  upon  us  in  a furious  run.  I was  bunking  with 
Monte  Harrell,  and  when  I jumped  up  Harrell  tried  to  hold 
me,  but  I jerked  loose  and  ran  around  to  the  other  side  of 
the  wagon.  1 soon  had  Mr.  Harrell  for  company.  1 think 
every  beef  must  have  jumped  over  the  wagon  tongue,  at  least 
it  seemed  to  me  that  every  steer  was  jumping  it. 

From  here  on  we  had  considerable  trouble  crossing  the 
creeks  and  rivers,  having  to  float  our  wagons  across.  When 
we  reached  one  of  these  streams  that  was  on  a rise  three 
or  four  men  would  swing  on  behind  each  wagon  to  hold  it 
down  until  we  got  into  the  water,  then  the  men  would  swim 
alongside  the  oxen  and  guide  them  across. 

After  going  about  three  hundred  miles  without  seeing  any- 
one or  knowing  our  exact  location,  we  came  to  the  old  mili- 
tary road  running  north.  That  day  about  noon  two  negro 
soldiers  came  to  our  camp  mounted  on  two  big  fine  govern- 
ment horses.  They  asked  me  for  grub  and  I told  them  I 
had  none  cooked,  and  as  brother  George  spoke  rather  harsh 
to  them,  they  rode  away,  going  by  one  of  the  other  herds. 
After  they  had  passed  on,  two  young  men  with  one  of  the 
other  outfits  decided  to  follow  these  negroes  and  take  their 
horses  away  from  them,  suspecting  that  they  were  not  in 
rightful  possession  of  the  animals.  When  they  overtook 
the  negroes  a fight  ensued  in  which  one  of  the  boys  was 
killed.  The  other  boy  returned  to  us  on  one  of  the  govern- 
ment horses  and  told  us  of  the  affair.  We  went  out  and 
found  the  body  and  buried  it  there  on  the  trail,  using  axes 
and  knives  to  dig  the  grave  with.  1 have  forgotten  the 


454 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


murdered  boy’s  name,  but  he  was  from  Texas.  The  negroes, 
we  learned  afterwards,  were  deserters  from  the  army.  We 
found  the  other  government  horse  grazing  near  where  the 
fight  took  place,  the  negroes  having  secured  the  horses  be- 
longing to  these  two  boys  and  made  their  escape  on  them. 

The  next  day  I was  about  a mile  behind  the  herd  with  the 
chuck  wagon  and  four  Indians  came  up.  They  grunted  and 
asked  for  “tarbucket,”  so  I grabbed  the  tar  bucket  and  gave 
it  to  them,  but  they  shook  their  heads  and  put  their  hands 
in  my  pockets,  took  all  of  my  tobacco,  gave  another  grunt, 
and  went  off  with  the  tar  bucket.  In  camp  that  night  my 
brother  asked  why  I permitted  them  to  take  our  tar,  but  I 
replied  that  I was  glad  they  did  not  take  my  scalp. 

A few  days  later  as  we  were  traveling  along  we  saw  ahead 
of  us  something  that  looked  like  a ridge  of  timber,  but  which 
proved  to  be  about  four  hundred  Comanches  who  were  com- 
ing our  way.  They  were  on  the  war-path  and  going  to  bat- 
tle with  another  tribe.  When  they  came  up  to  our  herd 
they  began  killing  our  beeves  without  asking  permission  or 
paying  any  attention  to  us.  Some  of  the  boys  of  our  herd  went 
out  to  meet  them,  but  the  boys  of  the  other  herds  hid  out 
in  the  grass,  and  only  one  man  from  the  other  outfit  came 
to  us.  They  killed  twenty-five  of  our  beeves,  and  skinned 
them  right  there,  eating  the  flesh  raw  and  with  blood  run- 
ning down  their  faces,  reminding  me  of  a lot  of  hungry  dogs. 
Here  I witnessed  some  of  the  finest  horsemanship  I ever 
saw.  The  young  warriors  on  bareback  ponies  would  ride 
all  over  the  horses’  backs,  off  on  one  side,  standing  up,  laying 
down,  going  at  full  speed  and  shooting  arrows  clear  through 
the  beeves.  We  were  powerless  to  help  ourselves,  for  we 
were  greatly  outnumbered.  Every  time  we  would  try  to 
start  the  herd  the  Indians  would  surround  the  herd  and  hold 
it.  Finally  they  permitted  us  to  move  on,  and  we  were  not 
slow  in  moving  either.  I felt  greatly  relieved,  and  they  could 
have  left  us  sooner  without  my  permission.  These  Indians 
had  “talked  peace”  with  Uncle  Sam,  that  is  all  that  saved  us. 
We  heard  a few  days  afterwards  that  they  had  engaged  in 
battle  with  their  foes  after  leaving  us,  and  had  been  severely 
whipped,  losing  about  half  of  their  warriors. 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


455 


In  1869  Colonel  John  D.  Miles  was  appointed  Indian 
agent  by  President  Grant  and  served  in  this  capacity  in  Kan- 
sas and  the  Indian  Territory,  for  the  Cheyennes,  Arapahoes, 
Kiowas  and  Comanches,  which  tribes  frequently  went  on  the 
war-path  in  those  days,  making  it  very  dangerous  for  the 
trail  drivers.  We  met  Colonel  Miles  the  next  day  after  the 
Indians  had  attacked  our  herd,  and  he  made  a note  of  the 
number  of  beeves  they  had  killed  belonging  to  us,  and  said 
he  would  report  it  to  Washington,  and  we  would  receive  pay 
for  all  we  had  lost.  He  was  traveling  alone  in  a hack  on 
his  way  to  some  fort,  and  to  me  he  looked  very  lonely  in 
that  wild  and  woolly  country. 

When  we  reached  the  Canadian  River  we  found  it  on  a big 
rise,  so  we  decided  to  stop  there  a few  days  and  allow  our 
herd  to  graze  while  waiting  for  the  river  to  go  down.  While 
we  were  there  a man  came  along  one  day  and  warned  us  to 
be  on  the  lookout  for  Indians,  saying  they  were  liable  to 
attack  us  at  any  time.  He  passed  on,  and  the  next  day  we 
crossed  the  river  and  after  traveling  about  ten  miles  we 
came  to  a pool  of  water  where  we  found  this  man’s  clothes 
on  the  bank.  Investigation  revealed  that  he  had  been  stripped 
and  dumped  into  the  pool. 

We  reached  the  Arkansas  River  where  we  had  a little  trou- 
ble getting  across.  There  were  a few  houses  on  the  Kansas 
side,  and  we  began  to  rejoice  that  we  were  once  more  get- 
ting within  the  boundaries  of  civilization.  Here  we  found  a 
store  and  plenty  of  “booze,”  and  some  of  the  boys  got  “full.” 
After  leaving  that  wayside  oasis  we  did  not  see  another  house 
until  we  were  within  ten  miles  of  Abilene.  We  had  several 
stampedes  in  that  region. 

One  evening  Monte  Harrell  said  the  prospects  were  good 
•for  a storm  that  night,  and  sure  enough  we  had  a regular 
Kansas  twister.  I had  prepared  for  it  by  driving  a long 
stake  pin  into  the  ground,  to  which  I chained  the  wagon, 
and  making  everything  as  safe  as  possible.  At  midnight  the 
storm  was  on,  and  within  a moment  everything  was  gone  ex- 
cept the  wagon  and  myself.  The  cattle  stampeded,  horses 
got  loose,  and  oxen  and  all  went  with  the  herd.  The  storm 
soon  spent  its  fury  and  our  men  managed  to  hold  the  cattle 


456 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


until  daylight  and  got  them  all  back  the  next  morning  and 
we  resumed  our  drive  to  Abilene,  reaching  there  in  a few 
days.  Abilene  at  this  time  was  just  a small  town  on  a rail- 
road, consisting  of  three  saloons,  one  store  and  two  hotels. 
Here  we  tarried  to  graze  and  fatten  our  cattle  for  market,  and 
as  several  of  the  hands  were  not  needed,  they  were  paid  off 
and  allowed  to  return  home,  I being  among  the  number. 

While  we  were  in  Abilene,  we  found  the  town  was  full  of 
all  sorts  of  desperate  characters,  and  I remember  one  day 
one  of  these  bad  men  rode  his  horse  into  a saloon,  pulled 
his  gun  on  the  bar-tender,  and  all  quit  business.  When  he 
came  out  several  others  began  to  shoot  up  the  town.  I was 
not  feeling  well,  so  1 went  over  to  the  hotel  to  rest,  and 
in  a short  time  the  boys  of  our  outfit  missed  me,  and  instituted 
a search,  finding  me  at  the  hotel  under  a bed. 

The  next  day  we  made  preparations  to  start  back  to  Texas, 
and  went  on  the  train  to  Junction  City,  Kansas,  to  get  our 
outfit.  It  was  the  first  train  I ever  rode  on,  and  I thought 
the  thing  was  running  too  fast,  but  a brakeman  told  me  it 
was  behind  time  and  was  trying  to  make  up  the  schedule. 
We  secured  our  outfit,  took  in  several  men  wanting  to  come 
to  Texas,  elected  a boss  and  started  for  home.  The  second 
night  out  we  camped  in  a little  grove  of  timber  and  during 
the  night  a storm  struck  us,  another  one  of  those  Kansas 
zephys  that  was  calculated  to  blow  hell  off  the  range.  1 
located  a stump  and  anchored  myself  to  it,  while  the  boss, 
a long-legged  fellow,  had  secured  a death  grip  on  a sappling 
near  me.  During  the  progress  of  the  storm  his  feet  were 
constantly  in  my  way,  flying  around  and  striking  my  shins  and 
knocking  the  bark  off  the  stump  I was  hanging  to  for  dear 
life.  1 could  hear  him  trying  to  pray,  but  I was  so  busy  at 
that  particular  time  that  I did  not  pay  much  attention  to 
what  he  was  saying.  The  wind  would  pick  us  up  and  flop 
our  bodies  against  the  ground  with  great  force,  but  I hung 
to  that  stump  and  got  through  all  right. 

We  reached  Fort  Gibson  on  the  Arkansas,  and  here  we 
were  compelled  to  stay  a week  on  account  of  high  water. 
The  boys  chipped  in  and  bought  a lot  of  whiskey  at  this  place, 
paying  twelve  dollars  a gallon  for  it.  I opposed  buying  the 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


457 


whiskey  because  it  was  a serious  offense  to  convey  it  into 
the  Indian  Territory,  but  they  bought  it  anyway,  and  after 
we  had  started  on  our  way  again,  some  trouble  arose  among 
the  outfit.  One  day  an  Indian  brought  a horse  and  outfit 
to  our  camp  and  I bought  this  outfit,  paying  the  Indian 
seventy-five  dollars  for  it,  so  I left  the  bunch  and  pulled  out 
alone  through  the  Indian  country.  I reached  Red  River, 
safely,  and  made  it  through  to  my  home  without  mishap, 
reaching  there  with  only  seventy-five  cents  in  my  pocket. 

In  conclusion  I will  say  that  I have  seen  cowboys  who 
had  been  in  the  saddle  for  twenty-four  hours  without  sleep 
or  anything  to  eat,  come  into  camp  lay  down  on  a log  and 
go  to  sleep  almost  instantly,  and  sleep  sound  with  the  rain 
pouring  down,  and  water  four  inches  deep  all  round  them. 
All  of  the  boys  who  were  with  me  on  the  trip  mentioned 
above  are  dead  except  one,  William  McBride.  1 was  twenty 
years  old  when  I made  that  trip;  1 am  now  seventy  years  old. 


THE  MAN  WHO  HAD  HELL  IN  HIS  NECK. 

By  Ab  Blocker  of  San  Antonio,  Texas. 

I was  born  three  miles  south  of  Austin,  Texas,  January 
30,  1856,  and  spent  my  boyhood  days  in  farm  and  ranch 
work.  In  1876  I went  to  Blanco  county  to  work  for  my 
brother,  John  R.  Blocker  on  his  ranch,  roping  wild  steers  out 
of  the  brush  and  mountains  and  moved  them  to  the  Lockhart 
Prairie  fifteen  miles  south  of  Austin.  In  1877  we  drove 
these  steers,  3000  head,  to  Wyoming  Territory,  and  delivered 
them  to  John  Sparks,  forty  miles  this  side  of  Cheyenne.  There 
were  sixteen  men  with  this  herd,  but  Brother  John,  myself, 
an  old  negro  named  Joe  Tasby,  are  the  only  ones  living  now. 
We  carried  the  herd  through  from  Austin  to  Cheyenne  in 
eighty-two  days.  John  and  Bill  Blocker  owned  them,  and 
John  was  the  boss,  Bill  remaining  at  home.  Frank  Smith 
was  the  cook,  the  best  that  ever  went  on  the  trail. 

In  the  spring  of  1878  we  again  started  up  the  trail  with 
3000  head  of  wild  steers  for  John  and  Bill  Blocker,  with  John 
Golden  as  boss.  At  Ogallala,  Nebraska,  John  Blocker  over- 


458 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


took  us  and  put  me  in  charge  of  his  herd,  and  I delivered 
them  near  Cheyenne  to  Swenson  Bros.  Golden  took  the 
other  herd  to  the  Red  Cloud  Agency,  and  had  one  man  killed 
by  lightning.  Forty  miles  this  side  of  Cheyenne,  while  we 
were  in  camp,  I had  my  horses  caught  for  the  night  relief. 
It  began  raining  and  the  cook  went  to  the  wagon  and  began 
handing  out  slickers  to  the  boys.  A bolt  of  lightning  knocked 
five  of  the  men  down  and  killed  seven  horses  in  camp.  I 
had  just  left  camp  for  the  herd  when  this  occurred. 

When  we  crossed  Red  River  Golden  told  me  one  evening 
to  look  out  for  the  herd,  as  he  and  Bill  Biles  were  going 
back  to  the  other  side  of  the  river.  I thought  they  were 
going  back  for  whiskey,  but  the  next  morning  just  at  daylight 
they  drove  up  with  forty  head  of  fine  four-year-old  steers. 
He  had  given  the  old  inspector  some  drag  yearlings  to  cross 
our  herd.  That  was  a pretty  hard  set  of  people  there  at  that 
time.  Every  man  you  saw  had  a pistol  and  winchester  and 
the  children  at  the  houses  we  passed  were  cutting  teeth  on 
cartridge  shells. 

In  1881  I drove  3000  cattle  from  Williamson  county  to 
the  Cross  S ranch  twelve  miles  from  Carrizo  Springs  for 
Seeright  & Carruthers. 

In  1882  I drove  some  3000  head  from  Austin  to  Crazy 
Woman  and  Powder  Rivers,  Wyoming,  for  Stoddard,  Howard 
& Blocker,  and  delivered  them  at  the  Stoddard  & Howard 
ranch.  After  I returned  from  that  trip  I worked  some 
but  not  much,  spending  most  of  the  time  driving  six  yoke 
of  steers  for  Bill  Blocker,  working  twenty  hours  out  of  every 
twenty-four,  hauling  everything  that  was  fed  to  cattle;  the 
balance  of  the  time  I spent  in  “acting  the  dude”  in  Austin 
and  blowing  in  my  easy-made  money. 

In  1884  I drove  a herd  of  2500  cows  and  heifers  from 
'Lorn  Green  county  to  Buffalo  Springs  in  Dalham  county,  for 
John  Blocker  and  delivered  them  at  the  XIT  Ranch.  Old 
Barbecue  Campbell  was  in  charge  of  this  ranch,  which  was 
owned  by  a syndicate  that  had  bought  a lot  of  cattle  down 
in  South  and  Southwest  Texas  .with  which  to  stock  it.  At 
Mobeetie  1 was  turned  back  and  had  to  go  down  across  the 
plains.  My  herd  was  the  first  to  reach  the  ranch,  and  I got 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


459 


W.  B.  BLOCKER 


E.  M.  (BUD)  DAGGETT 


P.  B.  BUTLER 


460 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


there  first  by  driving'  at  night  around  Joe  Collins  who  was  in 
charge  of  a herd  belonging  to  George  West.  Old  Barbecue 
Campbell  was  undecided  as  to  selecting  a brand ‘to  be  used 
by  the  ranch  syndicate,  and  when  I suggested  XIT  it  pleased 
him  so  well  he  decided  to  use  that  brand,  and  it  became 
known  all  over  Texas,  Oklahoma  and  New  Mexico  as  the 
XIT  Ranch.  I branded  the  first  cow  to  carry  the  XIT  brand, 
and  after  delivering  this  herd  Alex  Caspares  and  myself  went 
to  Los  Animas,  Colorado,  where  we  sold  our  saddle  horses 
and  went  by  train  to  Dodge  City,  Kansas,  where  I received  a 
message  from  Brother  John,  who  was  at  San  Antonio,  in- 
structing me  to  go  to  Camp  Supply,  get  a horse,  go  back 
the  trail  and  stop  two  or  three  herds  of  his  cattle,  as  he  had 
sold  part  of  them  and  wanted  me  to  deliver  them  and  take 
the  balance  to  Deer  Trail,  Colorado.  I went  by  stage  to 
Camp  Supply  and  there  met  the  bosses  of  John’s  herds.  They 
had  been  stopped  by  the  ranchmen  on  No  Man’s  Land,  who 
would  not  permit  herds  to  pass.  Several  herds  belonging  to 
George  West  and  others  were  also  there.  As  soon  as  John 
Blocker  and  George  West  received  news  that  their  herds  had 
been  held  up  they  immediately  came  up  there  and  began  to 
plan  to  get  their  cattle  across  that  strip  of  country.  Four- 
teen armed  men  were  riding  fence  to  keep  all  herds  from 
passing,  and  refused  to  meet  any  reasonable  demands.  Blocker 
and  West  went  to  Camp  Supply  and  began  wiring  the  authori- 
ties at  Washington,  sending  several  messages,  one  message 
alone  costing  them  about  $60.00,  nearly  all  of  the  messages 
passing  through  the  hands  of  Colonel  Carr  who  was  very 
courteous  and  extended  every  facility  at  his  command  to  as- 
sist them.  Things  were  looking  pretty  “squally”  and  I be- 
gan to  feel  creepy.  A ranchman  friend  of  John  told  him 
that  if  he  would  give  the  word  he  would  take  his  men  and 
kill  all  of  the  fellows  who  had  stopped  the  herds,  but  John 
told  him  that  he  thought  he  could  beat  them  by  law.  After 
several  days’  parleying  Blocker  and  West  got  a telegram 
from  Washington  telling  them  to  cut  the  fence  and  pass 
through  with  their  herds,  and  if  there  was  further  trouble 
troops  would  be  ordered  there.  When  this  telegram  came 
I had  a herd  ready  to  move.  A lot  of  the  boys  with  axes 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


461 


cut  the  fence  for  a quarter  of  a mile,  I took  the  lead  and  was 
the  first  to  cross  the  line.  In  just  a short  time  all  the  herds 
were  on  the  move  and  as  far  back  as  you  could  see  the 
cattle,  men,  chuck  wagons,  horse  rustlers  and  all  were  com- 
ing, all  eager  to  get  across  No  Man’s  Land.  I took  my  herd 
to  Deer  Trail,  Colorado,  this  side  of  Denver,  and  delivered 
them  to  a Mr.  Robinson,  who  had  bought  them.  Bill  Blocker 
came  up  and  helped  me  count  them  out  to  Robinson,  then 
Bill  went  to  Denver- and  left  me  to  rope  and  pull  down  those 
cattle  with  a worn-out  trail  pony.  1 borrowed  a good  horse 
from  Mr.  Robinson  to  rope  on,  and  got  him  killed  by  a cow 
hooking  him  through  the  head.  Robinson  said  to  me,  “Now 
you  have  played  h — 1 with  my  horse,  and  1 can’t  loan  you 
another.”  He  then  suggested  that  1 turn  the  cattle  out  to 
graze  and  let  them  rest,  and  start  with  them  for  the  ranch, 
twenty  miles  away,  the  next  day,  but  1 told  him  my  wagon 
and  cook  had  already  gone  and  I had  instructed  the  cook  to 
drive  until  I caught  up  with  him,  therefore  the  cattle  would 
sleep  just  behind  that  wagon  that  night.  He  and  his  boss 
walked  through  the  pen  and  1 heard  Robinson  say,  “1  thought 
Blocker  had  hell  in  his  neck  all  the  time,”  and  1 spoke  out 
and  said,  “You  are  right;  1 have  hell  in  my  head  four  stories 
high,  and  I don’t  want  you  to  forget  it.”  The  next  day  be- 
tween 11  and  12  o’clock  I met  him  at  his  pasture  gate,  drove 
the  cattle  and  horses  through,  delivered  the  wagon  to  him, 
as  he  had  bought  everything  but  the  men,  and  asked  him 
where  his  ranch  house  was.  He  told  me  it  was  about  a mile 
away  at  a cottonwood  mot  on  the  creek.  I called  the  boys 
and  struck  a gallop,  and  when  we  got  there  1 unsaddled  my 
horse,  pulled  off  my  leggings  and  six-shooter,  laid  my  head  on 
my  saddle  on  the  shady  side  of  the  house,  and  said,  “Now 
boys,  I am  going  to  sleep,  and  the  first  d — d man  that  wakes 
me  I’ll  kill  him.”  I slept  until  dark,  and  when  I awoke  Mr. 
Robinson  had  a fine  supper  prepared  for  us  boys.  Bill  Blocker 
had  sent  me  sufficient  money  to  pay  my  men,  and  the  next 
day  Robinson  took  us  all  to  the  railroad.  The  men  all  went 
back  to  Texas,  while  Robinson  and  I went  to  Denver  where 
we  found  Bill  Blocker  at  a hotel.  I was  wearing  an  old  tat- 
tered Mexican  hat,  my  clothes  were  showing  the  effects  of 


462 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


the  trail  work,  and  I had  a mashed  foot.  Bill  said  to  me, 
“You  can’t  eat  at  this  hotel  dressed  like  that.”  1 remarked, 
“I’ll  come  d — n near  eating  if  anyone  else  does,”  and  walked 
into  the  dining  room  with  the  well  dressed  guests.  After 
dinner  Bill  asked  me  how  much  money  I wanted  and  I told 
him  about  $200.  He  gave  it  to  me,  and  I went  out  and  got 
a shave  and  bath,  and  dressed  up  in  great  style,  then  went 
back  to  the  hotel  and  Mr.  Robinson  did  not  know  me.  I re- 
mained there  several  days,  had  my  picture  taken  and  gave 
one  to  Robinson  and  told  him  to  hang  it  in  his  ranch  house 
so  that  he  would  never  forget  the  man  that  had  hell  in  his 
neck  at  Deer  Trail.  He  thanked  me  and  assured  me  that 
he  would  never  forget  Ab  Blocker. 

In  1886  I went  to  San  Antonio,  got  a wagon,  horses  and 
hands  and  went  below  Pearsall  to  receive  a herd  of  3500 
steers.  Drove  them  for  Blocker,  Driscoll  & Davis  to  Hugo, 
Colorado,  and  turned  them  over  to  old  Fine  Earnest.  Blocker, 
Driscoll  & Davis  had  57,000  cattle  and  1800  saddle  horses 
on  the  trail  that  year.  After  I turned  over  the  herd  at  Hugo, 
I came  back  with  a few  men  and  wagon  to  Tom  Green  coun- 
ty, and  gathered  a herd  of  cattle  and  drove  them  to  the 
mouth  of  Devil’s  River,  where  I delivered  them  to  George 
Berry  and  he  wintered  them  there  for  John  Blocker,  then 
put  them  into  Mexico  the  next  spring,  and  I went  to  Austin 
where  I went  to  work  on  the  farm  for  my  father  and  mother. 
Here  I worked  like  h — 1 for  two  years  and  never  made  a 
cent  because  of  the  drouth.  I got  four  cents  for  my  cottton 
the  first  year  and  five  cents  the  next  year,  and  I swore  if  I 
ever  planted  cotton  any  more  I would  boil  the  seed  before  I 
planted  it.  Mother  sold  the  farm  and  I went  back  to  the 
saddle  on  the  hurricane  deck  of  a little  pony. 

In  1889  I drove  3700  cattle  from  Tom  Green  county  to 
Wyoming  for  John  Blocker.  He  met  me  at  Fort  Laramie 
where  he  sold  1000  out  of  this  herd  and  I went  to  the 
Belle  Fourche  River  with  the  balance.  When  1 got  back  to 
Austin  I had  a fine  time  while  my  money  lasted. 

In  1890  I went  to  the  Chupadero  Ranch  near  Eagle  Pass 
and  worked  for  my  brother,  John,  for  awhile,  then  went  back 
to  Austin,  got  a wagon  and  four  mules  from  Bill  Blocker  and 


Ab.  Blocker  and  Outfit  Starting  on  Trail  to  Deadwood,  South  Dakota,  in  1893 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


463 


464 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


tanked  for  Brother  John  and  Tom  Coleman.  Got  so  d — d 
tired  of  that  job  Johnnie  put  me  on  that  Chupadero  Ranch  as 
boss.  In  1891  John  put  me  to  feeding  1500  steers  eight 
miles  from  Eagle  Pass,  and  I spent  the  winter  there. 

In  1892  I ran  an  outfit  all  over  that  lower  country  for 
Blocker  & Coleman,  working  cattle  day  and  night. 

In  1893  Brother  John  sent  me  with  wagon  and  eighty-two 
horses  from  Spofford  to  a ranch  about  seventy-five  miles  from 
Colorado  City,  Texas,  to  drive  a herd  from  there  for  Harris 
Franklin  to  South  Dakota.  Mr.  Franklin  and  his  boss  was 
there  and  had  received  the  cattle,  but  Brother  John  had 
told  me  that  I had  the  right  to  cut  out  all  I thought  would 
not  stand  the  trip,  so  I cut  out  some  and  left  there  with 
2997  cattle  and  delivered  all  but  fourteen  head  near  Dead- 
wood,  South  Dakota.  John  drove  these  cattle  for  $2.7 5 per 
head  and  paid  the  bosses.  He  had  never  seen  the  herd  until 
1 reached  the  ranch  with  them,  and  when  he  looked  them 
over  he  said,  “Well,  Ab,  that  is  the  best  herd  I ever  saw 
come  over  the  trail.”  1 told  him  the  cattle  were  all  O.  K., 
but  I had  lost  thirty-seven  of  his  d — d old  horses,  and  he 
remarked,  “I  did  not  expect  you  to  get  here  with  more  than 
one  horse  to  the  man.”  So  I felt  pretty  good.  He  sold  all 
of  the  horses  but  two  to  one  of  the  hands,  and  I sent  Link 
Norwood,  the  cook,  with  the  wagon  and  four  mules  back  to 
Eagle  Pass.  He  drove  from  near  Deadwood,  South  Dakota, 
to  Eagle  Pass,  Texas,  in  fifty-nine  days.  The  accompanying 
photograph  was  taken  just  before  my  outfit  started  on  this 
trip,  and  the  mules  shown  therein  made  the  entire  trip,  go- 
ing and  coming,  with  the  chuck  wagon. 

In  1896  I married  Miss  Florence  Baldwin,  on  the  Rio 
Grande  River,  and  lived  at  the  Chupadero  Ranch  until  1897, 
when  I moved  to  a ranch  fifteen  miles  southeast  of  Cotulla, 
and  went  broke  there  during  the  drouth.  In  1902  I went  to 
Oklahoma  and  in  1903  came  back  to  Eagle  Pass,  where  I 
worked  for  Blocker  & Ford,  later  going  back  to  the  Chupa- 
dero ranch  where  I remained  until  1912,  then  commenced 
working  for  the  Cattle  Raisers’  Association,  and  have  been 
engaged  in  this  work  ever  since. 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


465 


MY  THIRD  AND  LAST  TRIP  UP  THE  TRAIL  IN  1886. 

By  R.  J.  Jennings,  of  San  Antonio,  Texas. 

I left  Frio  county  on  the  20th  of  March,  1886,  in  com- 
pany with  eleven  Pearsall  boys,  headed  for  the  Pena  Ranch 
to  take  charge  of  a herd  of  1100  one  and  two  year  old 
Mexican  cattle  belonging  to  Blocker,  Driscoll  & Davis,  which 
were  to  be  driven  to  Deer  Trail,  Colorado.  We  went  by 
rail  to  Laredo,  and  on  to  Hebronville,  and  from  there  out 
to  the  ranch  where  we  found  Mr.  Blocker  waiting  for  us,  and 
when  we  had  the  herd  ready  to  start  he  told  us  to  go  to 
the  Catarina  Ranch  in  Dimmitt  county,  where  I would  be 
given  1400  more.  Some  of  the  first  herd  were  very  poor, 
and  those  we  received  at  the  Catarina  Ranch  were  big,  fat, 
strong  fellows,  and  I remarked  to  Mr.  Blocker  when  I saw 
them  that  I would  either  have  to  drive  the  poor  ones  to 
death  or  starve  the  fat  ones,  to  which  he  replied  that  I could 
graze  them.  We  pulled  out  with  the  herd  and  passed  near 
Carrizo  Springs,  on  to  Eagle  Pass,  and  out  by  Spofford  Junc- 
tion, where  we  came  into  the  Western  trail  and  went  up  the 
Nueces  River  by  Kickapoo  Springs.  There  the  hard  road 
began  to  get  harder,  and  we  found  no  grass  and  but  little 
water,  therefore  I did  not  “graze  them  through,”  as  Mr. 
Blocker  had  suggested.  The  first  rain  that  fell  on  us  was  at 
Vernon,  on  the  Pease  River. 

This  herd  belonged  to  Driscoll,  Blocker  & Davis,  who  at 
the  time  had  about  20,000  cattle  on  the  trail  in  different 
herds.  On  account  of  the  exceedingly  dry  weather  that  had 
prevailed  for  a good  while  it  was  a very  hard  year  for  trail 
men,  and  many  of  them  sustained  heavy  losses. 

When  we  got  over  the  divide  into  Llano  county,  where 
cattle  rustlers  were  thick,  I picked  up  a red  and  white  pided 
beef  which  had  the  road  brand,  a big  D,  on  him.  Some 
rustler  had  tried  to  efface  this  D,  but  made  a failure  and  left 
the  brand  showing  very  plain.  A day  or  two  later  a mountain 
gent  came  to  my  herd,  saw  this  steer  and  claimed  him  for 
another  party.  I refused  to  give  the  steer  up,  and  that  is 
where  I made  a grave  mistake,  for,  in  consequence  I lost 
about  twenty-five  head  of  cattle  and  seven  horses,  and  be- 


466 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


sides  sustained  serious  injury.  The  actions  of  the  fellow  made 
me  suspicious,  and  I warned  my  hands  to  look  out  for  trouble 
for  we  were  in  a region  infested  with  rustlers,  and  there  was 
no  knowing  just  what  they  would  resort  to.  I always  held 
the  herd  while  the  first  watch  was  getting  up  their  night 
horses  and  ate  their  supper.  That  evening  1 rode  into  camp 
after  being  relieved,  and  was  eating  my  supper  when  the 
herd  started  to  run.  It  was  just  after  dusk,  and  as  the  moon 
had  not  yet  risen,  we  had  no  light  to  see  what  caused  the 
stampede,  but  I straddled  my  horse  and  went  down  the  hill 
in  front  of  the  frightened  cattle.  That  was  the  last  I re- 
membered until  about  midnight.  The  boys  missed  me,  and 
supposed  1 was  somewhere  with  a bunch  of  the  cattle,  but 
finally  they  discovered  me  sitting  on  my  horse  in  the  middle 
of  the  herd.  Sam  Oden  said  he  called  to  me  but  I did  not 
answer,  and  he  came  to  me  and  found  me  in  a dazed  and 
speechless  condition.  He  led  my  horse  to  camp  and  tried 
to  get  me  to  lay  down,  but  1 could  get  no  rest  in  that  man- 
ner. I had  in  some  manner  been  painfully  injured  and  for 
two  weeks  afterward  I could  sleep  only  when  1 was  leaning 
against  the  end  gate  of  the  wagon.  How  it  all  happened  is 
a mystery  and  will  probably  never  be  known.  Even  to  this 
day  that  injury  is  still  felt  and  I suffer  from  it.  1 do  not 
know  how  1 came  to  be  on  my  horse  when  they  found  me. 
When  we  reached  old  Runnels  City  I was  still  spitting  blood, 
and  Mr.  Blocker  insisted  that  1 go  back  home,  but  1 refused 
and  stayed  with  the  herd.  Instead  of  going  to  Deer  Trail  I 
delivered  the  herd  on  the  north  side  of  the  Arkansas  River 
at  Coolidge,  Kansas,  or  rather  at  Trail  City,  Colorado,  there 
being  only  the  state  line  between  the  two  towns.  My  outfit 
went  to  a point  about  twenty  miles  north  of  Trail  City,  where 
the  firm  had  3400  two-year-old  steers  which  they  had  sold 
to  a man  whose  name  I have  forgotten,  We  cut  them 
out  and  took  them  back  to  the  south  side  of  the  Arkansas 
River  and  then  up  that  stieam  for  some  distance  where  we 
delivered  them.  This  man  had  a certified  check  to  give  me 
in  payment  for  these  cattle.  He  was  in  a buckboard  with  a 
driver,  and  getting  out  to  ride  with  us  on  the  herd  he  told 
his  driver  to  go  on  ahead  for  some  distance.  The  driver 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


467 


pulled  out,  traveled  at  a lively  gait  and  got  lost  from  us,  be- 
ing found  two  weeks  later  down  at  Dodge  City  with  the 
buckboard  and  everything  all  right. 

1 left  a part  of  my  crew,  some  went  on,  while  others  came 
back  home.  George  Mudd  and  Frank  Blair  had  a fist  fight 
on  this  trip  which  helped  to  liven  up  things  in  camp. 


LISTENED  TO  THE  CHANT  OF  THE  NIGHT  SONGS. 

By  I.  H.  Elder,  Sanderson,  Texas. 

My  first  trail  work  was  under  the  direction  of  Tom  Lane, 
in  the  spring  of  1877,  around  my  home  at  Clarksville,  Texas. 
We  put  up  a herd  that  was  driven  to  Cheyenne,  Wyoming. 
In  the  spring  of  1878  I put  up  a herd  which  later  was 
thrown  in  with  the  famous  Northup  herd  of  3000  head, 
which  were  driven  through  to  Parsons,  Kansas,  by  Northup 
and  his  Kansas  jay-hawkers.  This  was  the  largest  herd  ever 
moved  from  that  part  of  the  state. 

In  the  spring  of  1879  I worked  with  Bass  Baker  from 
Red  River  county  to  Kechi  Valley  in  Jack  county,  near  old 
Fort  Hog  Eye.  About  this  time,  boys,  we  were  handling 
them  pretty  lively.  It  is  good  to  remember  how  all  the  boys 
gathered  round  the  camp  fire  and  told  of  their  experiences. 
Many  is  the  time  I have  listened  to  the  chant  of  the  night 
songs  as  the  boys  went  around  the  herd. 

I followed  the  trail  work  until  1882,  when  I retired  from 
the  trail  and  drove  a herd  for  myself  from  Red  River  county 
to  the  western  part  of  Brown  county,  and  from  that  date  to 
the  present  time  I have  been  after  the  cow.  I am  now  on 
the  Rio  Grande  in  Terrell  county. 


COLONEL  DILLARD  R.  FANT. 

Sketch  of  One  of  the  Most  Prominent  of  All  Trail  Drivers. 

Colonel  Dillard  R.  Fant,  who  died  in  1918,  was  born  in 
the  Anderson  district  of  South  Carolina,  July  27,  1841,  his 
parents  being  W.  N.  and  Mary  Fant,  who  were  also  natives 
of  that  district.  They  moved  to  Texas  in  1852,  locating 


468 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


near  Goliad.  At  the  age  of  fourteen,  the  boy  Dillard,  began 
freighting  with  ox  teams  between  San  Antonio  and  Goliad, 
and  at  the  outbreak  of  the  Civil  War  he  joined  the  Confed- 
erate forces,  enlisting  in  Captain  Kinney’s  company  of  the 
Twenty-first  Texas  Cavalry  and  Carter’s  Brigade,  serving  in 
the  Trans-Mississippi  department  in  Texas,  Louisiana,  and  Ar- 
kansas. 

After  the  Civil  War  ended  Colonel  Fant  engaged  in  farm- 
ing for  a short  time  in  Goliad  county,  but  in  1886  he  went 
into  the  cattle  business  and  rapidly  rose  to  prominence  be- 
cause of  the  extent  and  importance  of  his  operations.  He 
drove  cattle  to  Kansas,  Nebraska,  Wyoming,  and  other  mar- 
kets, and  for  a number  of  years  he  had  large  contracts  with 
the  government  to  supply  beef  cattle  to  various  military 
posts  and  agencies,  including  Yankton  and  Standing  Rock 
agencies  in  Dakota,  and  Fort  Reno  and  Fort  Sill  in  the  Indian 
Territory.  These  contracts  extended  over  a period  of  about 
fourteen  years,  during  which  time  Colonel  Fant  delivered 
many  thousands  of  cattle  to  the  government.  During  a 
period  of  about  four  years  he  wintered  vast  herds  of  cattle 
on  the  Loup  and  Platte  Rivers  in  Nebraska,  but  his  operations 
extended  to  Wyoming,  where  he  sold  a great  many  cattle,  and 
even  as  far  as  Idaho  where  he  spent  two  winters.  Colonel 
Fant  drove  one  of  the  largest  bunches  of  cattle  ever  taken 
over  the  trail  in  1884,  numbering  42,000,  going  in  several 
herds  to  Wyoming.  The  magnitude  of  this  undertaking  may 
be  imagined  from  the  fact  that  these  cattle  cost  him  from 
$12  to  $20  per  head,  requiring  1200  saddle  horses  in  mak- 
ing the  drive,  and  fully  two  hundred  men  were  used  to 
handle  the  herds  and  supplies  on  the  trail. 

After  the  quarantine  laws  against  Texas  became  effective, 
Colonel  Fant  ceased  taking  his  cattle  to  the  north  and  con- 
fined his  operations  to  trips  to  the  Indian  Territory,  where 
he  secured  pasturage  and  grazing  privileges  for  his  herds.  It 
is  estimated  that  he  took  fully  two  hundred  thousand  head 
of  cattle  over  the  trail  to  the  north  during  the  fifteen  years  he 
was  engaged  in  the  business.  During  all  these  years  Colonel 
Fant  had  continued  in  the  cattle  business  at  his  home  in  Go- 
liad county,  and  it  is  claimed  that  he  was  the  second  man  to 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


469 


fence  a pasture  in  Texas,  enclosing  his  first  range  in  1874, 
when  he  began  to  improve  his  stock  by  the  introduction  of 
Durhams  and  Herefords.  He  gradually  extended  his  land  hold- 
ings, placed  more  pastures  under  fence,  and  located  ranches 
in  Frio,  Live  Oak,  Hidalgo  and  other  counties,  some  as  far 
north  as  Tarrant  county.  He  owned  and  operated  the  Santa 
Rosa  ranch  in  Hidalgo  county,  which  comprised  225,000 
acres,  a pasture  of  sixty  thousand  acres  in  Live  Oak  county, 
and  altogether  had  holdings  amounting  to  700,000  acres  of 
grazing  land  in  various  parts  of  the  state. 

Colonel  Fant  was  married  at  Goliad,  Texas,  October  15, 
1865,  to  Miss  Lucy  A.  Hodges,  daughter  of  Colonel  Jack 
Hodges,  a prominent  Texan  who  won  distinction  in  the  Mexi- 
can war.  Eight  children  were  born  to  Colonel  and  Mrs. 
Fant,  and  some  of  them  are  today  prominent  in  the  business 
and  social  life  of  the  state. 

A few  years  ago  Colonel  Fant  disposed  of  his  ranch  hold- 
ings, retired  from  the  cattle  business,  and  established  his  home 
in  San  Antonio,  where  he  resided  until  his  death. 


RELATES  OF  A TRIP  MADE  IN  1872. 

By  M.  L.  Bolding,  of  Bartlett,  Texas. 

I was  born  in  Mississippi  and  there  I spent  my  childhood 
and  early  manhood,  coming  to  Texas  in  1867  and  settling  in 
Williamson  county. 

My  first  experience  on  the  trail  was  in  the  year  1871, 
which  was  followed  by  another  trip  in  1872,  and  concern- 
ing the  latter  I shall  relate. 

I was  a member  of  the  crew  of  W.  T.  Avery  of  Hutto, 
Texas,  and  after  rounding  up  two  thousand  steers  and  with 
all  the  necessary  paraphernalia  consisting  of  chuck  wagon, 
extra  saddle  horses  and  other  things,  we  left  Brushy  Creek 
for  Kansas  on  April  15,  1872.  We  crossed  Little  River 
west  of  Temple,  Texas,  which  at  that  time  was  a prairie;  the 
Brazos  at  Waco,  which  was  then  a small  town;  the  Trinity  at 
Fort  Worth,  which  consisted  of  a blacksmith  shop,  and  Red 
River  west  of  Sherman,  which  was  at  that  time  a large 


470 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


country  town.  Upon  entering  the  Indian  Nation,  now  the 
state  of  Oklahoma,  we  encountered  Indians,  buffalos  and 
wild  horses.  We  followed  a trail  known  as  the  main  west- 
ern trail  and,  due  to  heavy  rains  and  the  cattle  stampeding, 
together  with  trouble  with  the  Indians,  we  experienced  many 
hardships.  We  crossed  the  Arkansas  River  into  Kansas  and 
stopped  at  Baxter  Springs,  spending  one  month  resting  and 
fattening  the  cattle.  From  there  we  moved  to  Elsworth,  lo- 
cated on  Smokey  River,  the  extreme  frontier  of  Kansas,  from 
which  point  we  shipped  the  cattle  by  rail  to  Kansas  City  and 
sold  them.  On  the  return  trip  I had  charge  of  a wagon 
and  some  extra  saddle  horses  and  after  spending  six  weeks 
on  the  journey  I arrived  home  in  November. 

I am  now  seventy  years  of  age  and  live  at  Bartlett,  Texas. 


PAID  THREE  DOLLARS  FOR  FIVE  GALLONS  OF  WATER 

By  Sam  Garner  of  Lockhart,  Texas. 

I was  born  in  Tennessee  in  June  1847,  and  have  lived  in 
Caldwell  county  over  sixty-three  years,  witnessing  all  of  the 
wonderful  changes  that  have  occurred  in  that  great  space  of 
time.  When  I was  sixteen  years  old  I went  into  the  Con- 
federate Army  and  “fit,  bled  and  died”  for  the  great  cause 
that  was  lost,  returning  from  the  war  to  engage  in  cattle 
raising  and  farming. 

In  1869  I made  my  first  trip  up  the  trail  with  a herd  be- 
longing to  Col.  J.  J.  Myers  of  this  county,  and  we  went 
through  without  mishap  to  Abilene,  Kansas,  where  the  herd 
was  delivered.  While  we  were  camped  near  Abilene,  I wit- 
nessed one  of  the  most  terrific  cloudbursts  and  water  spouts 
that  I ever  saw.  It  washed  away  wagons  and  every  movable 
thing,  drowning  several  people  and'  many  head  of  stock. 

When  I left  Abilene  I went  with  a lot  of  fat  cattle  that 
were  shipped  by  rail  to  St.  Louis,  coming  down  through  Ken- 
tucky, Tennessee,  Indiana,  and  Louisiana.  On  my  route  home 
I took  the  Morgan  line  from  New  Orleans  to  Galveston,  and 
there  took  the  stage  coach  for  Gonzales,  which  put  me  within 
twenty  miles  of  home. 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


471 


In  1870  I gathered  a herd  for  Peck  & Evans,  which  I 
drove  to  Nebraska,  and  held  them  and  other  cattle  until 
winter  to  fatten  for  market.  When  they  were  fat  they  were 
shipped  to  Chicago.  While  going  up  the  trail  with  this  herd, 
just  as  we  struck  the  Kansas-Nebraska  line,  two  men  came 
to  us  one  day  and  told  us  it  was  too  late  to  cross  the  line 
into  Nebraska  and  we  would  have  to  remain  right  there  and 
consider  our  herd  under  quarantine.  One  of  the  men  claimed 
to  be  a sheriff  and  the  other  was  his  deputy.  As  grass  and 
water  were  plentiful  I told  Mr.  Sheriff  that  it  made  no  dif- 
ference to  me  whether  I stayed  there  or  not,  as  the  cattle 
could  not  be  shipped  until  they  fattened,  and  that  they  would 
fatten  there  as  quick  as  any  place  1 ever  saw.  He  stayed 
all  night  with  us,  and  after  he  was  sound  asleep  I had  the 
boys  to  quietly  move  the  herd  across  the  line,  getting  beyond 
his  authority  to  molest  us.  When  he  awoke  and  found  we 
had  out-generaled  him,  he  took  the  trick  good  naturedly,  and 
left  our  vicinity. 

In  1871  I gathered  a herd  for  Colonel  J.  J.  Myers,  but  did 
not  drive  this  herd  as  Wash  Murray  and  myself  gathered 
enough  of  our  own  cattle  to  make  a herd  and  we  went  along 
with  them.  We  sold  this  herd  to  Colonel  Myers  and  delivered 
them  on  the  Solomon  River  in  Kansas,  from  where  I took 
them  to  Salt  Lake  City  for  him.  On  this  trip  we  had  a great 
many  hardships.  Snow  fell  so  deep  that  it  covered  the  grass 
and  our  cattle  and  horses  could  get  nothing  to  eat.  Four- 
teen of  our  horses  froze  to  death  right  in  camp,  and  many  of 
our  cattle  died.  The  old  wild  beeves  became  as  gentle  as 
work  oxen,  and  we  could  handle  them  easily  enough,  but 
the  extreme  cold  caused  us  much  suffering.  Our  oxen  would 
bog  down  in  the  snow  just  the  same  as  if  it  was  mud,  and 
we  frequently  were  compelled  to  ram  snow  into  their  nos- 
trils to  make  them  get  up  and  move.  We  had  to  walk 
about  three  hundred  miles  through  the  snow,  for  we  could 
make  no  headway  on  horseback.  We  could  not  night  herd 
because  we  were  afoot,  and  it  took  us  six  weeks  to  make 
the  trip,  and  when  we  arrived  at  the  place  of  delivery  the 
parties  who  had  contracted  for  the  cattle  refused  to  receive 
them  until  the  weather  moderated,  because  they  wanted  to 


472 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


wait  and  see  how  many  would  die  from  the  effects  of  the 
weather.  It  may  have  been  good  business  on  their  part,  but 
it  gave  us  boys  the  devil  to  have  to  hold  the  herd  still 
longer  after  all  we  had  gone  through  to  get  them  there. 

On  one  of  the  trips  I made  I recall  what  a “dry”  time  we 
had  when  we  got  up  in  a region  where  the  water  was  full 
of  alkali.  We  were  all  very  thirsty,  and  came  to  a beautiful 
stream  of  clear  water.  A spring  was  flowing  out  of  the  side 
of  a mountain,  and  inviting  us  to  partake  freely,  but  all 
things  that  look  good  do  not  prove  to  be  good.  That  was 
the  saltiest  water  I ever  tasted — we  could  not  drink  it  at  all. 
We  had  passed  a spring  a few  miles  back  on  the  trail,  and  it 
was  good  water,  so  an  Irishman  said  if  we  would  give,  him 
three  dollars  he  would  go  back  and  bring  us  five  gallons  of 
water  from  that  good  spring.  Well,  he  got  the  money  and 
we  got  the  water,  and  while  I have  drank  some  good  liquor  in 
times  gone  by  and  thought  it  was  the  best  stuff  that  ever 
went  down  a cowboy’s  neck,  that  five  gallons  of  water  on 
that  occasion  beat  any  liquor  I had  ever  swallowed. 

In  1872  I gathered  600  or  700  head  of  my  cattle  and 
put  them  in  with  Colonel  Myers’  herd  and  Mack  Stewart 
and  myself  drove  the  herd  to  Salt  Lake  again.  This  trip  was 
much  more  pleasant  than  the  previous  one.  We  started 
earlier  than  the  year  before,  consequently  we  had  none  of 
the  deep  snow  that  we  had  this  time,  and  we  had  no  trouble 
in  delivering  them.  Just  before  reaching  the  point  of  de- 
livery, however,  we  passed  through  a very  brushy  section,  and 
lost  some  of  the  cattle.  Fanny  Hart  and  myself  went  back 
about  forty  miles  and  found  a lot  of  them  which  I sold  to  a 
fellow  and  got  his  check  for  them.  We  had  to  hire  the 
horses  we  rode  on  this  hunt,  and  paid  three  dollars  per  day 
for  each  of  them  besides  a dollar  and  a half  a day  for  board- 
ing our  own  horses  while  we  were  away.  While  I believe  in 
honesty  under  reasonable  conditions,  I did  steal  some  oats 
for  my  horse  on  this  trip.  We  had  had  a very  hard  day’s  drive 
through  a region  where  there  was  no  grass  and  when  we 
came  to  a place  where  oats  were  stacked  I just  couldn’t  keep 
from  swiping  a few  bundles  for  Old  Doc. 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


473 


I am  now  seventy-three  years  of  age,  and  while  I have 
had  some  very  hard  times  in  life,  especially  while  on  the 
trail,  still,  as  old  as  I am,  I think  I would  have  the  nerve  to 
undertake  to  go  through  it  all  again  if  I knew  where  there 
was  a country  like  this  was  in  those  good  old  days. 


SKETCH  OF  L.  B.  ALLEN. 

L.  B.  Allen,  better  known  among  his  friends  as  Lew  Allen, 
was  born  in  Mississippi  on  February  14th,  1848,  and  came 
with  his  father,  W.  W.  Allen  to  Texas  and  settled  at  Sweet 
Home,  in  Lavaca  county,  when  he  was  about  four  years  of 
age.  His  father  was  engaged  in  farming  and  stock  raising. 
At  an  early  age  he  became  interested  in  the  stock  business, 
and  is  rightly  classified  as  a pioneer  of  the  cattle  business 
in  Texas. 

He  entered  the  Civil  War  on  the  side  of  the  Confederacy 
at  a very  early  age  and  in  about  1866  returned  to  Lavaca 
county  and  from  that  time  up  to  the  time  of  his  death,  which 
occurred  December  2nd,  1911,  he  was  continuously  in  the 
cattle  business. 

In  about  1873  L.  B.  Allen,  W.  J.  Moore  and  Sam  Moore 
formed  a partnership  which  continued  until  the  death  of  Sam 
Moore,  and  was  continued  with  W.  J.  Moore  up  to  the  time 
of  the  death  of  L.  B.  Allen.  They  first  had  their  ranch  in 
Lavaca  county  and  later  moved  their  ranch  to  Uvalde  and 
Kinney  counties.  Mr.  Allen  made  many  trips  up  the  trail 
driving  cattle  to  Dakota  and  Nebraska.  At  one  time  Moore 
& Allen  opened  up  a ranch  in  the  Black  Hills.  L.  B.  Allen, 
W.  J.  Moore,  Sam  Moore,  J.  M.  Bennett,  Sol  West,  Ike  West, 
George  West  and  Mr.  McCutcheon  were  all  stockmen  in  the 
early  days  in  Lavaca  county  at  Sweet  Home,  all  of  them  be- 
came large  cattle  owners  and  were  successful  in  business. 

One  of  the  best  evidences  of  the  integrity  of  Mr.  Allen  and 
his  associates  and  neighbors  is  that  they  all,  since  their  early 
settlement  at  Sweet  Home,  have  remained  intimate  friends. 

L.  B.  Allen  was  the  brother  of  W.  W.  Allen  who  was  also 
engaged  in  the  stock  business,  also  of  R.  B.  Allen,  who  was 
an  attorney  and  also  engaged  in  the  stock  business. 


474 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


The  above  early  settlers  of  Sweet  Home,  Texas,  were  all 
large  men  of  stature,  and  also  large  in  character,  and  in  their 
dealings  with  each  other  no  other  obligation  was  required  in 
any  contract  except  their  word. 


HAD  LESS  TROUBLE  WITH  INDIANS  THAN  WITH  THE 
GRANGERS  ON  THE  TRAIL. 

By  J.  E.  Pettus,  of  Goliad,  Texas. 

My  father,  John  Freeman  Pettus  came  to  Texas  with  Aus- 
tin’s Colony  in  1822.  He  fought  with  old  Ben  Milam  in 
San  Antonio,  and  was  also  in  the  Battle  of  San  Jacinto.  1 
was  born  in  DeWitt  county,  when  but  few  settlers  lived 
there  and  spent  my  boyhood  on  the  frontier.  When  I first 
started  on  the  trail  it  was  with  my  own  cattle,  my  brother 
W.  A.  Pettus  loaning  me  the  money  to  buy  these  cattle  and  1 
drove  them  to  Dodge  City,  Kansas.  1 drove  one  year  to 
Ogallala,  Nebraska. 

In  making  trips  up  the  trail  I was  always  happy  when  we 
crossed  Red  River  for  we  had  less  trouble  with  the  Indians 
than  with  the  grangers.  The  Indians  would  sometimes  come 
into  camp  and  beg  from  us,  demanding  fat  beeves,  but 
we  always  managed  to  pacify  them.  But  the  grangers  dis- 
played a degree  of  animosity  toward  the  trail  drivers  that  was 
almost  unbearable. 

My  father  settled  in  Bee  county  in  1857,  and  lived  there 
for  many  years,  moving  to  Goliad  county  in  1877.  When 
we  first  resided  in  these  counties  the  population  was  small 
and  the  country  almost  a wilderness.  Today  shows  quite  a 
contrast,  and  as  I look  back  over  the  intervening  years  I 
can  see  the  remarkable  changes  that  have  taken  place.  But 
foremost  and  above  all  the  cowman  has  had  his  full  share 
in  the  making  of  this  glorious  country,  for  he  was  the  pio- 
neer, the  advance  guard  of  the  high  state  of  civilization  that 
is  enjoyed  by  the  present  generation. 

I had  three  brothers,  W.  A.  Pettus,  J.  M.  Pettus  and  T. 
G.  Pettus.  The  two  first  named  died  several  years  ago,  and 
T.  G.  now  lives  at  Charco,  in  Goliad  county. 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


475 


DROVE  CATTLE  FOR  DOC  BURNETT. 

By  L.  Beasley,  Junction,  Texas. 

I was  raised  on  a ranch  in  Gonzales  county,  Texas,  and 
moved  to  Kimble  county  and  located  a ranch  in  1897,  and 
am  still  here,  raising  high  grade  cattle,  goats,  sheep  and 
hogs.  Have  been  in  the  cattle  business  all  of  my  life.  I 
drove  cattle  up  the  trail  in  the  early  eighties  for  Doc  Bur- 
nett, and  could  relate  many  thrilling  experiences  of  those 
good  old  times,  but  I guess  they  have  been  pretty  well  cov- 
ered by  the  sketches  of  other  old  time  cowboys. 

I was  a member  of  the  local  exemption  board  during  the 
war  just  closed  and  served  as  county  commissioner  of  Kim- 
ble county  for  four  years.  My  ranch  is  located  nine  miles 
south  of  Junction,  in  one  of  the  best  sections  of  this  part 
of  the  state. 


MY  TRIP  UP  THE  TRAIL. 

By  W.  F.  Thompson,  Pearsall,  Texas. 

It  was  in  the  clay  hills  of  Mississippi,  February  5th,  1863, 
where  I first  sprung  to  light.  My  father,  being  an  officer  in 
the  Confederate  Army,  soon  saw  the  cause  was  lost  and  in 
1865  ran  the  blockade  and  came  to  Texas.  Hence,  Texas 
got  another  missionary.  In  1870  we  landed  in  Medina  coun- 
ty, where  1 grew  up  among  the  hardships  of  a frontier  life, 
as  there  were  no  churches  or  schools  to  go  to.  In  1883  I 
left  the  Lytle  ranch  on  the  Chicon  creek  with  a herd  of 
horses  and  went  to  Kerrville  where  we  began  receiving  cat- 
tle to  go  up  the  trail.  We  bought  the  cattle  between  Fred- 
ericksburg and  Blanco  City,  and  in  a few  days  we  had  two 
thousand  cattle  under  herd.  The  first  night  we  herded  out 
we  had  the  worst  stampede  I ever  saw.  At  twelve  o’clock  at 
night  when  I went  to  call  first  relief,  the  cattle  came  right 
into  camp  where  the  boys  had  the  horses  tied  to  a fence. 
Several  broke  loose,  dragging  rails  and  coming  into  the  herd. 
I tried  to  cut  them  off  from  where  the  horses  were  grazing, 
all  being  hobbled,  but  they  beat  me  to  them,  soon  got  mixed 
up  and  turned  down  a lane  with  a mad  rush,  cattle,  myself 
and  horses.  We  went  for  some  time  before  I could  get 


476 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


around  to  one  side,  and  then  held  them  until  daylight,  when 
I got  help  from  the  camp.  We  remained  there  several  days 
getting  the  cattle  together,  at  last  hitting  the  trail  with  some 
three  thousand  steers  and  had  but  little  trouble  until  we 

reached  the  Red  River  at  Doan’s  Store.  Zack  Stucker,  our 
boss,  had  gone  ahead  to  look  for  a crossing  on  the  river,  as 
it  was  up  very  high  from  spring  rains,  and  when  he  came 
back  he  ordered  me  to  get  ready  to  cross  at  two  o’clock  in 
the  evening.  I informed  him  that  all  the  boys  were  drunk  as 
old  man  Doan  had  some  wagon-yard  whiskey,  and  that  we 
had  better  not  cross  as  the  men  would  have  to  swim,  and  a 
drunken  man  cannot  swim.  I told  him  to  move  camp  up  the 
river  and  wait  until  the  next  day,  which  we  did,  and 

crossed  all  right.  We  had  some  trouble  in  the  Indian  Terri- 
tory, but  got  through  by  giving  the  Indians  some  steer  year- 
lings. We  came  to  Camp  Supply  where  we  saw  a sign- 
board, reading  “The  way  to  Camp  Supply  is  closed — go  to 
the  right.”  Gus  Black,  Til  Driscoll  and  J.  A.  Kercheville 
were  waiting  for  some  one  else  to  go  there.  My  boss,  Zack 
Stucker,  being  a fighting  man  of  some  reputation,  said  that 
a “bunch  of  shorthorns  could  not  turn  him  back,”  and  we 
went  straight  ahead,  ignoring  the  signboard  instructions.  The 
next  day  we  came  to  the  finest  country  I ever  saw.  Here  we 
struck  the  first  range  cattle  that  we  had  seen  in  the  Terri- 
tory. My  boss  came  to  me  and  told  me  to  get  another  boy 

and  go  out  and  butcher  one  of  these  fine  calves.  They 
were  sure  fat  and  good.  I told  him  that  Mr.  Lytle  did  not 
hire  me  to  steal  cattle,  and  I would  not  do  it.  He  had  no 
trouble  in  getting  some  one  else,  so  the  calf  was  butchered. 
He  told  me  to  go  ahead  and  camp  the  wagon  and  have  the 
calf  ribs  barbecued  for  dinner,  which  I did;  but  before  we 
had  gotten  the  ribs  on  the  fire,  I saw  him  coming  to  camp  and 
he  said  “Hide  the  meat,”  as  there  were  some  ten  or  twelve 
“shorthorns”  coming  and  all  had  double  barrel  shotguns,  and 
said  that  we  would  have  to  turn  back  and  that  they  would 
see  that  we  did  so  as  they  had  plenty  of  soldiers  to  help 
them.  My  boss  lost  all  of  his  fighting  spirit  and  promised 
to  turn  back,  and  here  he  certainly  showed  his  “gall.”  He 
said  to  the  gang  of  men  that  had  just  come  up  and  ordered 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


477 


him  to  turn  back  that  “I  would  ask  you  to  eat  dinner  with 
me  but  we  have  nothing  but  bacon,  as  you  watched  us  so 
close  that  we  haven’t  had  a chance  to  steal  anything.” 

They  told  him  (the  boss)  to  come  to  their  camp  and  they 
would  give  him  a quarter  of  a beef,  which  they  did,  and  the 
boss  of  course  accepted  their  hospitality.  The  stolen  calf 
was  the  best  meat,  however. 

1 landed  at  Fort  Dodge,  Kansas,  and  I had  a date  to  take 
a young  lady  to  a Fourth  of  July  barbecue  and  dance.  I 
resigned  my  position  and  came  home.  The  same  lady  I took 
to  the  barbecue  and  dance,  is  the  same  one  I am  taking 
around  with  me  to  the  Old  Trail  Drivers’  reunions. 

We  have  six  children,  one  girl  and  five  boys,  and  all  the 
boys  are  engaged  in  the  stock  business.  I am  living  quietly 
on  my  ranch  in  Frio  county,  where  I expect  to  pass  my  re- 
maining days. 


RICHARD  KING. 

One  of  the  most  useful  men  in  South  Texas  was  Captain 
Richard  King,  who  died  in  the  eighties,  aged  sixty  years. 
Mr.  King  was  born  in  Orange  county,  New  York,  July  10, 
1825,  and  came  to  Texas  when  he  was  twenty-two  years  old. 
He  first  became  engaged  in  steamboat  traffic,  and  built  up 
quite  an  extensive  business,  becoming  associated  with  Captain 
M.  Kennedy,  Charles  Stillman  and  James  O’Donnell  in  the 
operation  of  twenty-six  steamers  on  the  Rio  Grande,  the 
firm  being  known  as  King,  Kennedy  & Company  which  con- 
tinued until  Captain  King  began  to  devote  his  entire  time  to 
cattle  raising.  He  began  purchasing  grazing  land  and  im- 
ported domesticated  stock  from  Mexico  in  the  later  fifties. 
He  was  the  pioneer  importer  of  graded  stock,  purchasing 
Durhams  from  Kentucky  and  rams  from  the  North.  His 
live  stock  holdings  at  one  time  were  100,000  cattle,  20,000 
sheep  and  10,000  horses.  Thousands  of  longhorns  owned 
by  him  were  driven  over  the  trail  to  Kansas  and  the  terri- 
tories to  market  and  the  ranges.  Before  the  Northern  mar- 
kets had  opened  to  any  extent  Captain  King  erected  render- 
ing establishments  on  his  ranch  and  shipped  tallow  and 
hides  to  market  via  water. 


478 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


Captain  King  interested  himself  in  every  enterprise  that 
was  for  the  good  of  the  Southwest.  He  was  a builder  in 
every  sense,  and  was  interested  in  the  construction  of  the 
San  Diego,  Corpus  Christi  & Rio  Grande  Railroad. 

At  the  time  of  his  death  Captain  King  owned  outright 
more  than  500,000  acres  of  land.  He  made  his  wife  his 
sole  legatee  and  executrix  without  bond.  His  son-in-law,  R. 
J.  Kleburg,  was  placed  in  charge  of  the  estate  and  under  his 
management  the  King  ranch  has  increased  to  more  than 
950,000  acres,  on  which  today  graze  thousands  of  head  of 
high  grade  cattle.  As  many  as  30,000  calves  have  been 
branded  on  this  ranch  in  a single  year. 

In  December,  1854,  Captain  King  was  married  to  Miss  Hen- 
rietta M.  Chamberlain,  daughter  of  Rev.  Hiram  Chamberlain 
of  Brownsville,  Texas.  Of  this  union  the  following  children 
were  born:  Robert  Lee,  deceased;  Nettie  M.,  who  became 

the  wife  of  Brigadier  General  E.  B.  Atwood;  Mrs.  Ellen  M. 
Atwood,  Richard  King,  and  Mrs.  R.  J.  Kleburg. 


WORKED  WITH  CATTLE  FOR  OVER  SIXTY  YEARS. 

By  E.  M.  (Bud)  Daggett,  Fort  Worth,  Texas. 

I was  born  in  Shelby  county,  Texas,  in  1850,  and  have  re- 
sided in  this  state  ever  since,  following  the  cattle  business  all 
of  my  life.  If  there  is  one  class  of  people  I love  better  than 
another  it  is  the  class  that  dates  back  to  my  childhood  days, 
for  I went  into  the  saddle  at  ten  years  old.  The  first  night 
I can  remember  of  camping  out  on  a cow  hunt  was  in  the 
spring  of  the  year.  We  camped  on  the  banks  of  a creek 
called  Deer  Creek,  south  of  Fort  Worth  about  fifteen  miles. 
At  that  time  the  boys  carried  their  biscuits  and  dried  beef 
and  a little  coffee  in  sacks  tied  behind  their  saddles,  and 
their  blankets  generally  piled  on  their  saddle  blankets  and 
their  saddles  on  top  of  that  making  pack  horses  out  of  the 
boys’  saddle  ponies.  From  that  time  on  I have  worked  with 
cattle  a part  of  every  year  without  missing  a single  year  for 
over  sixty  years  and  am  still  handling  cattle  as  a commission 
man  and  salesman  on  the  stockyards,  Daggett- Keen  Commis- 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


479 


sion  Co.,  at  Fort  Worth.  I could  give  so  many  different 
statements  concerning  trailing  and  cattle  driving  that  it  would 
take  too  much  space.  Have  been  with  scouting  parties  many 
times,  day  and  night,  in  this  section  of  the  country  doing- 
such  scout  work  against  Indians  and  Indian  raiders.  Forty- 
nine  years  ago  in  this  month  was  the  last  raid  the  Apaches 
and  Comanches  made  in  the  vicinity  about  the  stockyards, 
Fort  Worth,  Texas,  at  which  time  they  killed  hundreds  of 
horses  within  a mile  to  ten  miles  of  this  location.  At  that 
time  1 pulled  twenty-seven  arrows  out  of  horses  that  they 
had  shot.  As  to  myself  I used  to  be  a bronco  buster 
and  an  expert  roper,  not  as  a wild  west  show  man  but 
roping  and  riding  at  that  day  and  time  was  part  of  the 
business.  It  was  like  going  into  battle  to  make  charges  on 
wild  bunches  and  capturing  the  whole  band  of  wild  outlaw 
cattle  if  possible  or  else  capturing  a part  of  them  without 
ropes.  The  same  would  apply  with  either  horses  or  cattle, 
sometimes  deer,  antelope  or  wolves  for  a change.  I have 
played  checkers  across  parts  of  our  country  by  driving  cat- 
tle in  different  directions  with  herds. 

The  hardest  trip  I believe  1 ever  made  with  cattle  was  in 
July,  1865,  when  I helped  move  a herd  of  steers,  ages  four 
to  eight  years  to  Shreveport,  Louisiana.  Seems  to  me  they 
stampeded  pretty  nearly  every  night  from  the  time  we  left 
the  prairies  directly  north  of  Fort  Worth,  until  we  got  them 
loaded  on  boats  for  shipment  to  New  Orleans,  and  will  say 
here  that  the  net  price  of  those  cattle  after  the  freight,  feed 
bills,  commission  and  yardage  was  paid  was  $ 6.00  per  head. 
Our  work  taking  the  cattle  through  on  that  drive  was  just 
added  in  the  steer  and  made  a part  of  the  steer,  to  say 
nothing  of  the  expense  for  driving.  From  the  time  we  ar- 
rived at  Marshall,  Texas,  the  road  from  that  point  was  lined 
with  negro  soldiers  dressed  in  blue,  called  Yankee  negro  sol- 
diers. They  kept  us  in  the  brush  from  there  on  to  Shreve- 
port, most  every  prominent  corner  in  that  city  had  a negro 
soldier  on  it  with  a gun  and  a bayonet  who  would  slightly 
touch  the  people  with  the  bayonet  and  tell  them  to  move  on. 
Of  course  this  was  generally  people  that  were  not  singing- 
gospel  Sam  to  them;  those  they  would  prod  with  the  bay- 


480 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


onet;  I often  wondered  why  this  great  American  Government 
patrolled  this  beautiful  American  country  with  negroes  in- 
stead of  white  men,  when  it  had  more  than  sufficient  num- 
bers of  white  men  who  could  take  the  place  of  negroes.  But 
I want  it  understood  I am  not  especially  a negro  hater,  as 
we  owned  a few  negroes;  we  raised  some  of  those  negroes 
and  those  negroes  helped  raise  us.  Mr.  Negro  is  all  right  in 
his  place. 

I loaded  out  the  first  train  of  cattle  that  was  loaded  out  of 
the  Fort  Worth  stockyards  in  the  fall  of  1876,  and  had  the 
first  consignment  of  cattle  on  the  North  Side  twenty-seven 
years  ago. 

MADE  FIRST  TRIP  IN  1877. 

By  B.  D.  Sherrill,  Rocksprings,  Texas. 

In  1877  1 went  up  the  trail  with  Dave  Combs,  who  was 
then  driving  for  Ellison  & Sherrill.  We  left  the  coast  coun- 
try with  3000  big  steers  and  stags  and  delivered  to  Millett  & 
Ervin  in  the  Indian  Territory.  This  was  my  first  trip  as  a 
cow-puncher,  and  when  we  reached  Red  River  a lot  of  In- 
dians came  and  stayed  with  us  all  day.  To  me,  a beardless 
boy,  those  Indians  in  their  war  paint  was  a wonderful  sight. 
After  delivering  the  cattle  I went  on  to  Wolf  Creek,  near 
Camp  Supply,  remained  there  two  months  and  picked  up  sore- 
footed cattle  and  carried  them  to  Ellison  & Sherrill’s  Ranch 
on  North  Fork  of  Red  River  near  old  Fort  Elliott.  That 
was  the  finest  country  I ever  saw,  and  it  was  full  of  Indians, 
buffalo,  antelope,  deer,  turkey  and  prairie  chickens  by  the 
thousands.  I remained  in  that  region  several  years  and 
finally  drifted  back  to  Staples  on  the  San  Marcos  River. 

I drove  a herd  from  Staples  to  the  San  Miguel  in  Frio 
county,  where  we  ranched  a number  of  years,  afterward  going 
back  to  my  old  stamping  ground,  Staples. 

In  1886  I drove  a herd  from  San  Marcos  to  Mobeetie, 
sold  out  in  the  late  fall  and  came  home. 

It  is  a great  pleasure  to  attend  the  old  trail  drivers’  meet- 
ings and  meet  my  old  time  friends,  especially  my  old  com- 
rade Dave  Combs,  a cow  man  and  gentleman  in  every  respect. 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


481 


COWBOYS  DRESSED  UP  AT  END  OF  THE  TRAIL. 

By  R.  J.  Jennings,  San  Antonio,  Texas. 

On  April  10th,  1876,  in  company  with  George  Lyons  as 
trail  boss  for  Ellison  & Co.,  with  1500  cattle,  and  1 as  boss 
for  Crunk,  Jennings  & Co.,  with  1600  cattle,  we  pulled  out 
for  Dodge  City,  Kansas.  That  was  a good  year,  grass  and 
water  plentiful  and  a good  open  range.  We  had  good  horses 
and  good  men  on  that  trip,  our  boys  getting  along  like  one 
large  family.  Went  by  way  of  Austin,  crossed  the  Trinity 
River  at  Fort  Worth  and  passed  near  where  the  union  depot 
in  that  city  now  stands.  There  were  but  a few  houses  in 
Fort  Worth  then.  We  crossed  Red  River  at  Doan’s  Store 
and  went  up  North  Fork,  which  we  crossed,  and  pulled  on 
to  Dodge  City,  crossing  the  Cimarron  and  Washita  Rivers 
on  the  way.  Indians,  deer,  antelope  and  prairie  hens  were 
plentiful;  there  were  a few  buffaloes,  too,  but  not  many,  but 
the  prairies  were  covered  with  the  skeletons  of  these  animals 
which  had  been  killed  for  their  hides. 

When  we  reached  Dodge  City  we  crossed  to  the  north 
side  and  remained  there  six  weeks.  These  cattle  were  sold 
on  contract  to  J.  F.  Ellison,  Sr.  We  delivered  500  cows  and 
had  to  take  to  Fort  Sill,  Indian  Territory.  Mr.  Lyons  de- 
livered them  and  left  me  with  the  big  herd.  I was  two  or 
three  days  getting  away  from  where  we  cut  the  cows  from 
their  yearlings;  we  moved  like  a snail  climbing  a slick  log,' 
so  far  up  in  daytime,  slipping  back  at  night.  Gus  Staples, 
one  of  our  boys,  was  a fiddler  and  we  had  music  all  the  way. 
Gus  saw  his  first  antelope  on  this  trip,  thought  it  was  crip- 
pled and  tried  to  catch  it,  but  the  longer  he  ran  it  the  faster 
it  got.  Monkey  John,  the  negro  cook,  spent  a half  a day 
trying  to  drown  a prairie  dog  out  of  a hole,  but  nothing  doing. 

Captain  Ellison  finally  sent  us  word  to  cut  all  cows  above 
three  years  old  and  take  them  on  towards  Powder  River, 
catch  up  with  his  herd  and  turn  them  over  to  his  boss,  who  he 
said  was  waiting  for  us  two  days  ahead.  With  five  men  I 
pulled  out,  ate  up  all  of  our  grub  the  second  day  at  noon, 
and  were  four  days  catching  up  with  that  herd.  For  two 
days  we  had  nothing  to  eat  but  boiled  Irish  potatoes  without 


482 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


salt.  We  delivered  the  remainder  of  the  herd  as  soon  as  ■ 

I got  back  and  checked  up.  I found  we  had  about  the  num- 
ber  we  started  with  and  a few  over  which  we  picked  up  ] 
along  the  trail,  which  of  course,  if  no  one  claimed,  we  did  j 
not  point  out. 

In  1881  I left  Martindale,  Caldwell  county,  with  a herd  J 
of  1500  cattle  and  went  to  Travis  county,  where  John  R. 
Blocker  gave  me  1500  more,  making  3000  cattle  belonging  ] 
to  Jennings,  Blocker  & Co.  This  herd  was  sold  to  Ike  T.  i 
Pryor  and  delivered  to  him  on  the  north  side  of  the  Washita  | 
River  in  the  Indian  Territory.  Rufus  Fuller  then  took  the  j 
herd  to  Fort  Sill,  while  Mr.  Blocker  and  I went  to  Dodge  ] 
City  on  horseback.  I left  Mr.  Blocker  there  and  came  home,  j 

In  those  days  I received  $30  a month,  furnished  three  J 
horses  and  had  money  at  the  end  of  the  trip.  Our  way  | 

back  home  was  paid  by  those  who  employed  us.  We  came  1 
back  as  immigrants,  all  dressed  up  in  new  suit,  boots  and  hat,  I 
the  rig-out  costing  about  $30,  and  when  we  reached  home  | 
we  were  “somebody  come”  sure  enough,  as  we  were  usually  3 
absent  about  four  months. 


A TENDERFOOT  FROM  KENTUCKY. 

By  J.  D.  Jackson.  . ] 

In  the  summer  of  1887,  D.  G.  Knight  was  working  as  ] 
manager  for  the  Durants,  and  was  also  selected  as  round-up 
boss  of  Presidio  county.  He  had  about  60  men  and  over 
400  horses  in  the  outfit. 

Friends  of  the  Durants  in  Kentucky  had  a son  who  was  j 
very  brave  and  anxious  for  some  real  excitement,  so  they  1 
sent  him  out  to  Mr.  Knight.  He  was  a very  talkative  young  j 
man,  and  often  told  us  of  the  good  times  people  in  high  so-  j 
ciety  had  in  Kentucky  and  of  their  great  dinners,  costing  from 
$1.00  to  $10.00  per  plate.  He  was  quite  free  to  state  that 
he  did  not  think  we  would  know  how  to  act  in  such  high 
society,  and  while  we  knew  that  this  was  perhaps  true,  we  ,i 
did  not  care  to  have  him  tell  us  that. 

The  boys  immediately  started  in  to  show  him  how  they  j 
did  things  in  high  cow-camp  society.  The  first  thing  we  did 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


483 


was  to  slip  the  cinches  off  his  saddle,  so  that  when  he  tried 
to  head  a steer,  his  horse  stopped  quickly,  and  he  went  off 
with  the  saddle,  landing  on  his  head.  He  thought  it  was 
purely  an  accident. 

He  wore  a blue  shirt.  Every  man  in  the  outfit  started 
telling  Indian  stories,  and  told  him  that  the  Indians  thought 
that  those  who  wore  blue  shirts  were  soldiers,  and  they 
would  hide  behind  rocks  and  pick  them  out  from  among  the 
cowboys.  This  scared  him  so  that  he  pulled  off  his  blue  shirt 
and  wore  his  white,  short-sleeved  undershirt  on  top  until  his 
arms  were  blistered  by  the  sun.  The  boys  then  started  in 
telling  him  about  the  narrow  escapes  they  had  had  from 
“gwinders,”  a very  vicious  animal  with  one  short  leg  in  front 
and  one  behind,  so  they  could  circle  around  a mountain  and 
catch  a man  and  tear  him  all  to  pieces.  That  made  him 
afraid  to  get  out  of  camp  after  dark. 

One  night  we  camped  about  sixty  miles  south  of  Marfa, 
and  the  boys  decided  it  was  time  to  put  on  an  “Indian  fight.” 
We  took  it  turn  about  telling  of  narrow  escapes  from  Indian 
raids,  until  bed  time,  and  warned  him  to  be  prepared  for  an 
attack  any  minute  during  the  night.  After  we  had  bedded 
down  for  the  night,  ten  or  twelve  of  the  boys  slipped  off, 
and  tied  bunches  of  grass  on  their  heads  and  got  sotol  stalks 
for  lances.  About  12:30  Den  Knight  woke  the  boy  up  and 
told  him  to  saddle  his  horse  and  go  with  him  to  unhobble 
a bunch  of  their  horses  and  move  them  closer  to  camp  so 
the  Indians  wouldn’t  get  them.  Just  as  they  got  off  their 
horses  and  got  busy  with  their  work,  the  other  boys  came 
charging  up  on  their  horses,  yelling,  shooting  and  making  all 
kinds  of  wild  noises.  Knight  fell  over  and  yelled  to  the  boy 
that  he  was  killed  and  for  him  to  make  his  escape  if  possible. 
The  boys  thought  they  could  catch  him  before  he  could  get 
to  his  horse,  but  they  failed  and  he  got  away  and  rode  sixty 
miles  to  Marfa  before  10  o’clock  the  next  morning.  He  ar- 
rived there  almost  exhausted  and  told  the  citizens  that  In- 
dians had  attacked  the  party  and  he  was  the  only  one  to 
escape.  When  he  found  out  that  it  was  all  a joke  on  him, 
he  decided  the  West  was  a little  too  strenuous  and  went  back 
to  swell  society  in  Kentucky. 


484 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


A TRUE  STORY  OF  TRAIL  DAYS. 

In  the  late  ’70s,  when  herd  after  herd  of  Texas  cattle  were 
driven  north  over  the  old  Chisholm  Trail,  Ike  Pryor’s  herd  was 
a few  weeks  ahead  of  the  herd  driven  by  Bill  Jackman. 

It  was  the  custom  for  the  man  following  to  pick  up  lost 
cattle  and  drive  them  on  until  the  herd  they  were  lost  from 
was  reached.  Bill  Jackman’s  herd  picked  up  a steer  lost  by  i 
Ike  Pryor  and  was  taking  him  along  for  Ike,  with  good  in- 
tentions. Red  River  was  crossed  and  Bill’s  herd  had  now 
gone  a few  days  drive  into  the  Indian  Nation.  One  afternoon 
a band  of  about  forty  Indian  warriors  including  their  squaws, 
rode  up  to  Bill  Jackman’s  herd  and  the  chief  handed  him  a 
letter,  which  read  as  follows: 

“To  the  trail  bosses: 

“This  man  is  a good  Indian;  I know  him  personally.  Treat 
him  well,  give  him  a beef  and  you  will  have  no  trouble  in 
driving  through  his  country.” 

(Signed)  IKE  T.  PRYOR. 

After  reading  the  letter,  Bill  rode  into  the  herd,  and  cut 
out  Ike’s  steer  for  the  chief.  They  killed  the  steer  then  and 
there  and  had  a big  feast.  Then  Bill  went  on  North  with 
his  herd,  in  peace,  thanking  Ike  for  his  good  advice. 


TRAVELING  THE  TRAIL  WITH  GOOD  MEN  WAS 
A PLEASURE. 

By  J.  F.  (Little  Jim)  Ellison,  Jr.,  Fort  Cobb,  Oklahoma. 

My  first  trip  over  the  trail  was  in  1868  with  my  father, 
Col.  J.  F.  Ellison,  with  about  1000  cattle,  which  at  that  time 
was  considered  a large  herd.  We  left  the  old  McGhee  Cross- 
ing on  the  San  Marcos  River  in  Caldwell  county,  about 
seven  miles  from  the  town  of  San  Marcos,  and  went  over  the 
old  Fort  Arbuckle  trail  to  Abilene,  Kansas,  crossing  the  Trinity 
River  at  Fort  Worth,  which  at  that  early  date  was  just  a small 
frontier  town.  Our  mess  wagon  was  drawn  by  two  yoke  of 
oxen,  and  as  it  was  our  last  chance  to  lay  in  supplies  we 
stocked  up  at  Fort  Worth  with  enough  to  last  us  to  Abilene. 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


485 


My  second  trip  was  in  1871,  over  the  old  Chisholm  trail. 
I went  over  the  same  trail  again  in  1874,  and  in  1876  I 
drove  a herd  for  Ellison  & Dewees,  and  Mac  Stewart  having- 
charge  of  a herd  for  Millett  & Maberry,  we  traveled  together, 
receiving  our  cattle  southwest  of  San  Antonio.  We  went  as 
far,  if  not  farther  west  than  any  cattle  had  ever  gone,  cross- 
ing the  Washita  about  eight  miles  west  of  where  Chickasha 
is  now  located.  This  was  a hard  trip.  We  passed  through 
the  Wichita  Mountains  at  the  foot  of  Mt.  Scott,  and  saw  lots 
of  buffalo  and  antelope.  Our  first  stop  was  at  Dodge  City, 
Kansas.  We  delivered  part  of  these  cattle  north  of  Chey- 
enne, Wyoming  Territory.  This  year  Ellison  & Dewees  and 
Millett  & Maberry  drove  together  and  drove  about  100,000 
cattle  to  the  northern  markets.  Their  cattie  were  strung  out 
from  San  Antonio  almost  to  Dodge  City.  Ogallala,  Nebras- 
ka, was  their  distributing  point.  For  some  time  that  year  I 
held  7,000  head  just  south  of  Ogallala,  across  the  Platte 
River,  my  camp  being  near  a cold  spring  that  boiled  out  of 
the  ground.  The  water  from  this  spring  was  the  coldest  1 
ever  drank,  so  cold  in  fact  that  it  would  make  your  teeth 
ache.  They  cut  cattle  from  my  herd  to  deliver  in  every 
direction. 

In  1877  I did  not  drive  a herd  but  worked  on  the  trail 
for  Ellison  & Dewees  wherever  I was  needed,  and  Monroe 
Hardeman  did  the  same.  R.  G.  Head  was  our  general  fore- 
man. On  Washita  River,  near  where  Chickasha  is  now,  I 
cut  from  the  herds  of  Giles  Fenner,  N.  P.  Ellison  and  Bill 
Green  about  2,000  one  and  two-year-old  steers  and  delivered 
them  to  Miller  & Green  of  Paul’s  Valley.  Their  foreman 
was  Tom  Grant  of  Fort  Arbuckle  and  he  took  charge  of 
the  cattle.  As  well  as  I remember  they  paid  #9.00  for  the 
yearling  steers  and  #12.00  for  the  two-year-olds.  These 
were  good  cattle  for  those  days,  and  good  colors  because  they 
were  all  colors.  From  there  I went  to  Dodge  City  on  horse- 
back. Had  good  company,  for  1 struck  up  with  Charley  Shi- 
ner who  was  headed  for  the  same  point.  I think  1 can  truth- 
fully say  we  were  never  out  of  sight  of  a herd  of  cattle  from 
there  to  Dodge  City.  Arriving  at  Dodge  City  I delivered  the 
proceeds  of  the  cattle  to  Miller  & Green  and  after  resting  up 


486 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


I was  sent  back  down  the  trail  by  Col.  John  Dewees  on  some 
business  that  carried  me  almost  to  the  Washita.  As  I started 
back  to  Dodge  City  I was  again  fortunate  in  having  good 
company  and  more  of  it,  this  time  coming  up  with  Green 
Mills  and  Zeke  Hilliard  of  Lockhart,  and  A.  B.  McQueen  of 
Winston  county,  Miss,  it  was  a pleasure  to  travel  with  such 
good  men. 

In  1880  I made  my  last  trip  over  the  trail,  this  time  for 
myself,  hut  in  1884  my  two  younger  brothers,  T.  H.  Ellison 
and  R.  R.  Ellison,  J.  T.  Block  and  myself  sent  a herd  from 
Presidio  county  in  the  Big  Bend  country  in  charge  of  the 
late  Nat  Jackman,  who  was  a brother  to  W.  T.  Jackman.  I 
met  these  cattle  up  there  and  delivered  them  to  the  Durbin 
Land  & Cattle  Co.  on  Sweetwater,  about  150  miles  north  of 
Cheyenne,  and  had  to  throw  them  all  down  and  brand  them, 
some  four  or  five  thousand  head. 

I believe  this  winds  up  my  trail  experience.  There  is  a 
warm  place  in  my  heart  for  all  of  the  old  cowmen  and  trail 
boys.  The  men  who  bought  the  cattle  and  paid  me  to 
drive  them  are  nearly  all  gone  now;  many  of  my  comrades 
who  worked  with  me  on  the  trail  have  also  passed  on,  and 
the  balance  of  us  are  on  the  shady  side  of  life.  Like  the 
cowboy  who,  when  asked  why  he  had  cut  a certain  cow 
back,  reared  in  his  stirrups  and  said  “She  is  too  ancient,”  we, 
too,  are  getting  “ancient.”  Trail  driving  is  but  a memory 
now,  and  will  never  return.  When  the  summons  comes  for 
our  last  trip  let  us  be  ready  to  go.  My  postoffice  address  is 
Fort  Cobb,  Oklahoma,  and  I would  be  pleased  to  hear  from 
any  of  the  old  boys  who  would  care  to  write  to  me. 


HAD  PLENTY  OF  FUN. 

By  Gus  Black,  Eagle  Pass,  Texas. 

I have  no  time  to  write  books.  If  I gave  all  of  my  expe- 
rience on  the  trail  it  would  fill  this  book  and  then  some.  From 
1875  to  1882  I suppose  I had  more  experience,  good  and 
bad,  than  any  one  man  on  the  trail,  with  Indians,  buffalo, 
horse  rustlers,  and  cutthroats,  and  during  that  time  I worked 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


487 


eighteen  hours  out  of  every  twenty-four.  Wound  up  in  1882 
without  a dollar  in  hand,  but  in  possession  of  several  thou- 
sand dollars  worth  of  fun.  I am  now  seventy-one  years  old 
and  can  ride  a horse  just  the  same  as  of  old.  I have  been 
right  here  in  Texas  ever  since  the  morning  star  first  “riz,” 
and  when  you  publish  your  next  book  I hope  to  be  a retired 
stockman,  for  my  time  will  then  be  my  own,  and  I will  give 
you  something  good.  However,  since  you  insist,  1 will  relate  a 
few  incidents  and  you  can  arrange  them  to  suit  yourself. 

I went  up  the  trail  the  first  time  with  Ben  Duncan  and 
Jim  Speed  of  Frio  county,  and  the  second  time  with  Wood- 
ward Oge  of  the  same  county.  For  many  years  1 was  boss 
for  Lytle  & McDaniel  and  Lytle  & Schreiner. 

One  year  while  on  the  trail  we  found  Red  River  out  of 
banks  at  Red  River  Station,  with  fifteen  or  twenty  herds 
there  waiting  to  cross.  I was  in  charge  of  a herd  of  3500 
cattle  and  was  anxious  to  get  across.  The  toll  man  was  de- 
manding $1.25  per  head  for  crossing  cattle  at  that  point,  but 
I was  determined  not  to  pay  it,  for  the  total  amount  seemed 
too  high,  so  of  two  high  things  I decided  to  choose  the 
river.  While  my  herd  was  stopped  on  the  Texas  side  of  the 
river,  and  the  toll  collector  was  absent,  I swam  across  to 
the  other  side  and  made  arrangements  with  a man  over  there 
to  come  and  ferry  my  wagons  over.  Then  I swam  back  and 
got  from  two  to  five  men  from  each  outfit  there  to  help  me. 
This  gave  me  a bunch  of  some  forty  or  fifty  men  and  we 
pushed  my  cattle  right  into  the  raging  river  and  rushed  them 
across.  Just  as  we  emerged  on  the  other  side  the  toll  man 
appeared  on  the  bank  we  had  left  and  1 yelled  back  to  him: 
“You  are  too  slow  to  collect  from  Gus  Black.” 

I delivered  many  cattle  for  Lytle  & Schreiner  in  Wyom- 
ing and  Nebraska.  One  year  this  firm  sold  several  herds  to 
Governor  Bush  of  Wyoming.  One  trip  Governor  Bush 
came  out  to  meet  the  herd  in  company  with  Captain  Lytle, 
and  we  entertained  him  in  camp.  That  morning  I had  found 
a couple  of  long  horns  which  had  slipped  off  the  head  of  a 
dead  cow  on  the  trail,  and  in  a spirit  of  fun  1 fitted  them 
onto  the  just-sprouting  horns  of  a dogie  yearling  with  our 
drags.  That  little  old  yearling  was  a comic  sight  with  those 


488 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


great  long  horns  on  its  head,  and  caused  lots  of  fun  for  the 
hoys.  When  Governor  Bush  was  looking  over  the  herd  he 
espied  this  “long-horned”  yearling,  and  began  to  hurrah 
Captain  Lytle  about  the  animal.  I told  the  Governor  that  it 
was  just  a yearling,  but  he  said  it  was  a four-year-old,  and 
would  bet  any  amount  of  money  on  its  age.  I told  him  1 
would  bet  $200  it  was  a yearling.  He  promptly  covered  the 
bet,  saying  he  knew  1 was  a hard-working  man,  and  he  hated 
to  take  my  money,  but  he  wanted  to  prove  my  ignorance  and 
teach  me  a lesson.  At  the  same  time  he  said  he  would  just 
as  soon  bet  me  $1000,  but  knew  1 could  not  afford  to  lose 
that  much  money.  1 told  him  to  put  it  up,  that  I always 
“blowed  in”  my  money  anyhow  and  would  just  as  soon  let 
him  win  it  as  anybody  else.  So  the  bet  was  made,  and  then 
I roped  the  dogie  and  took  those  horns  off.  Governor  Bush 
was  dumbfounded,  and  the  laugh  was  on  him.  When  set- 
tlement came  around  I told  him  to  keep  his  money,  as  he 
was  so  d — d ignorant  I just  wanted  to  teach  him  a lesson. 
Then  he  set  up  the  whiskey  and  cigars  to  the  outfit. 

On  another  trip,  after  we  crossed  Smokey  River  we  en- 
countered a colony  of  grangers  who  made  it  a rule  to  charge 
every  herd  fifty  dollars  for  permitting  passage  through  their 
community.  I rode  into  the  village  and  consulted  with  their 
chief  leader  who  informed  me  that  the  charge  was  made 
to  pay  for  inspecting  herds  for  contagious  diseases,  etc.  I 
told  him  I had  no  money  but  would  give  him  a draft  on  Cap- 
tain Lytle,  which  he  said  would  be  satisfactory  as  Captain 
Lytle’s  check  was  good  anywhere  in  the  world.  He  asked 
me  to  kindly  add  another  ten  dollars  to  the  amount  for  to- 
bacco for  the  villagers,  which  I did,  and  then  put  my  herd 
through.  The  first  telegraph  station  I reached  1 wired  Cap- 
tain Lytle  that  I had  been  buncoed  out  of  sixty  dollars  and 
to  refuse  to  pay  the  draft.  Those  fellows  were  skinning  us 
and  I figured  that  turn  about  was  fair  play. 

I am  glad  George  Saunders  took  the  lead  in  the  organiza- 
tion of  the  trail  drivers  of  the  early  days,  for  such  an  asso- 
ciation has  long  been  needed  to  preserve  the  history  of  the 
rugged  noble  men  who  made  the  cattle  industry.  I hope  to 
live  to  see  the  day  when  that  monument  suggested  by  Mr. 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


489 


Saunders  is  placed  on  the  old  trail  as  a tribute  to  those  who 
have  gone  their  way  and  a reminder  to  oncoming  genera- 
tions that  we  “blazed  the  trail”  and  vouchsafed  unto  them 
peace,  happiness  and  prosperity. 


ANOTHER  SUCCESSFUL  COWMAN. 

By  J.  B.  Murrah,  San  Antonio,  Texas. 

My  parents  were  James  M.  and  Malinda  A.  Murrah.  I was 
born  in  Goliad  county,  Texas,  August  24,  1856,  and  lived 
there  with  my  parents  until  the  fall  of  1865,  when  father 
moved  to  DeWitt  county  and  gathered  a remnant  of  about 
twenty-five  head  of  cattle,  all  we  had  left  out  of  about  two 
hundred  head  after  the  close  of  the  four  years  of  Civil  War. 
Father  subsequently  sold  these  few  cattle  for  the  low  price 
of  three  dollars  per  head. 

In  1866  we  moved  to  Bell  county,  and  myself  and  a 
negro  helped  my  uncle  drive  two  hundred  head  of  horses 
through  on  the  trip.  This  was  my  first  trail  work.  We  set- 
tled on  a little  farm  in  Bell  county,  where  I plowed  and 
worked  the  farm,  but  all  the  time  longing  to  be  old  enough 
to  go  “up  the  trail”  with  the  cowboys.  When  I was  twenty 
years  of  age  I made  my  first  trip  to  Austin,  passing  through 
San  Antonio.  1 heard  of  a ranger  company  up  on  the  Sabinal 
River  and  went  there  to  get  a job,  but  did  not  succeed  in 
getting  it,  so  1 went  on  and  secured  employment  with  an 
uncle  where  I taught  Mexicans  how  to  use  an  American  plow. 
After  three  months  of  this  work  I was  offered  a job  on  the 
trail  and  lost  no  time  in  accepting  it.  1 drove  on  the  trail 
from  1882  to  1887  and  knew  many  of  the  old  cowmen  of 
that  time.  1 knew  D.  H.  and  J.  W.  Snider  quite  well;  worked 
a great  deal  for  Capt.  Dud  Snider,  and  think  he  is  one  of  the 
best  men  living.  A short  time  ago  I read  a sketch  of  his 
life,  and  while  reading  it  I felt  that  the  half  had  not  been 
told  of  his  honesty  and  goodness. 

I have  been  in  the  cow  business  ever  since  leaving  the 
trail,  and  it  seems  to  me  that  I have  known  the  “dogies” 
almost  from  the  beginning  of  time.  I have  ranches  in  Val 


490 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


Verde  and  Webb  counties,  but  my  home  is  now  in  San  An- 
tonio. I am  proud  to  be  the  vice  president  of  the  Old  Time 
Trail  Drivers’  Association,  for  it  is  an  organization  of  men 
who  made  history. 


SLUMBERED  THROUGH  THE  SHOOTING. 

By  H.  H.  Peel,  Jourdanton,  Texas. 

I went  up  the  trail  the  first  time  in  the  spring  of  1881 
with  a Crouch  Brothers’  herd  from  Frio  county,  in  charge  of 
George  Wilcox.  We  had  the  usual  experiences  of  driving 
and  stampeding,  and  at  Doan’s  Store  on  Red  River  a near- 
shooting. Fortunately  the  bad  man’s  pistol  hung  in  the  scab- 
bard and  as  he  was  well  covered  by  several  guns  he  had 
to  accept  orders  and  leave.  In  the  Territory  we  had,  I sup- 
pose, the  usual  tense  moments  when  the  short  barreled  hair- 
trigger  boys  wanted  to  cut  our  herd  for  strays,  and  Wilcox 
would  not  stand  for  it.  We  did  not  have  trouble  with  this 
outfit  who  wanted  to  cut  our  herd  because  the  leader  recog- 
nized Wilcox  as  a friend  who  had  once  given  him  a horse, 
saddle  and  gun  to  leave  a section  of  country  where  he  was 
“wanted,”  so  he  was  very  anxious  to  do  something  in  re- 
turn for  the  favor.  He  offered  to  stop  the  fellow  we  had 
turned  off  at  Doan’s  Store,  and  who  had  threatened  to  follow 
us  up  and  “get”  one  of  our  men,  our  new  friend  saying  he 
would  not  have  any  trouble,  just  tell  some  Indians  he  knew 
that  a bad  man  and  a good  horse  were  coming  anti  he  would 
never  get  by.  George  refused  to  give  him  a description  of 
the  man. 

We  arrived  at  Dodge  City,  took  in  the  lively  town,  then 
put  two  Crouch  herds  together  and  drove  them  to  Ogallala 
with  Dick  Crewes  as  boss.  There  I left  them  and  went 
East  and  to  England. 

Went  again  in  1885,  I think,  to  Caldwell,  Kansas,  and 
from  there  to  Camp  Supply  and  delivered  to  D.  R.  Fant  at 
his  ranch,  then  took  the  mail  hack  to  Kiowa,  and  the  trip 
and  gypsum  water  wore  me  out,  so  I went  to  the  hotel  in 
Kiowa,  a board  affair,  to  rest.  Some  Texas  boys  who  had 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


491 


had  a difference  with  the  town  marshal  were  in  the  adjoin- 
ing room,  and  I slept  through  all  the  shooting,  though  some 
twenty  shots  were  fired  by  the  posse  from  the  street  and  the 
boys  from  the  windows,  the  marshall  being  wounded.  The 
boys  were  still  in  their  room  when  I left  the  next  morning. 

Those  old  days  may  have  been  a little  rough  at  times,  but 
there  was  always  such  kindness  and  good  feeling  among  the 
boys  it  is  a pleasure  worth  remembering  to  have  been  one 
of  them. 


THE  REAL  COWBOY. 

By  Bulah  Rust  Kirkland,  Phoenix,  Arizona. 

I wish  I knew  as  much  about  cowboy  life  of  today,  as  my 
father  knows  of  the  early  cowboy  days  in  Texas.  I firmly 
believe  that  my  love  for  the  open  range  and  a good  cow 
pony  is  inherited.  Good  cow  punching  is  just  as  much  an 
art  and  just  as  appreciated,  as  it  was  when  he  was  a boy. 
Of  course  there  is  not  the  demand  for  cowboys  there  once 
was  because  there  is  not  the  range,  or  the  wild  cattle.  Just 
the  same,  a ranch  in  New  Mexico  or  Arizona  could  hardly 
be  managed  without  good  men  who  thoroughly  understood 
their  business.  So,  the  real  live  cowboy  still  exists;  here  and 
over  in  Old  Mexico,  especially,  and  of  course  in  South 
America. 

1 am  sure  that  nothing  would  please  our  little  world  better 
than  to  see  the  old  cowboys  make  a proposed  trip  to  Cali- 
fornia. Also  to  re-establish  the  old  trail.  1 am  especially 
interested  in  that  noted  old  trail;  and  would  like  to  make  the 
trip  from  start  to  finish.  For  the  old  cowboys  to  make  the 
trip  to  California  would  be  one  of  the  grandest  things  of  this 
century,  it  would  be  history. 

While  I am  not  a man,  1 love  to  work  with  cattle;  and  have 
spent  a good  deal  of  my  time  on  the  range  in  Southern  Ari- 
zona. There  is  something  about  the  way  startled  cattle  raise 
their  heads  and  look  toward  a horseback  rider,  that  I enjoy. 
For  me  there  is  real  pleasure  in  noting  their  earmarks  at  a 
glance;  and  studying  out  their  brands.  Ranch  life  is  not  so 


492 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


exciting  as  it  was  in  the  early  days.  For  one  thing,  when 
pay  day  comes  the  boys  do  not  shoot  up  the  town,  as  of 
old.  Though  the  rustler  is  still  with  us,  we  handle  him  strict- 
ly within  the  law,  but  we  do  not  love  him  any  better  than 
they  used  to  thirty  years  ago. 

I believe  I could  walk  along  the  streets  of  any  town  or 
city  and  pick  out  the  real  cowboy,  not  by  his  clothes  espe- 
cially, but  because  one  can  nearly  always  notice  that  he  has 
a very  open  countenance  and  almost  innocent  eyes  and  mouth. 
He  is  not  innocent  of  course;  but  living  in  the  open,  next 
to  nature,  the  cleaner  life  is  stamped  on  his  face.  His  vices 
leave  no  scars,  or  few,  because  old  mother  nature  has  him 
with  her  most  of  the  time. 

The  cowboys  in  this  part  even,  are  rapidly  passing  out,  for 
the  wire  fences  and  short  horns  are  coming  in.  While  in 
Texas  last  summer  I noticed  that  very  few  kept  up  the  old 
custom  of  good  saddles,  ropes,  etc.  Here,  a good  saddle, 
rope,  boots,  chaps  and  a good  “cutting”  horse  are  still  the 
pride  of  any  cowboy,  for  they  are  still  very  much  needed. 

In  Old  Mexico  and  along  the  line  in  Arizona,  cow  punching 
goes  on  in  earnest.  We  still  have  the  big  round-ups;  the 
chuck  wagons,  the  “remuda.”  Camped  out  for  nights,  the 
boys  still  tell  old-time  yarns  and  sing  good  old  songs  and 
play  pranks  on  the  tenderfoot  they  find  in  their  midst. 

Long  live  the  cowboy,  young  and  old.  He  is  the  Ameri- 
can in  my  opinion. 

(EDITOR’S  NOTE — The  above  sketch  was  written  in 
1914,  since  which  time  Mrs.  Kirkland  has  died.  She  was  the 
daughter  of  C.  H.  Rust,  of  San  Angelo,  Texas,  one  of  the 
active  members  of  the  Old  Trail  Drivers’  Association.) 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


493 


INDEX  TO  CONTENTS. 

Page 

FOREWORD 3 

THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS  (Introductory) 4 

ORGANIZATION  OF  THE  OLD  TIME  TRAIL  DRIVERS’  ASS’N 6 

ORIGIN  AND  CLOSE  OF  THE  OLD  TIME  NORTHERN  TRAIL,  By 
George  W.  Saunders,  San  Antonio,  Texas 20 

LOCATION  OF  THE  OLD  CHISHOLM  TRAIL,  By  C.  H.  Rust,  of 
San  Angelo,  Texas 25 

THE  PUMPHREY  BROTHERS’  EXPERIENCE  ON  THE  TRAIL,  By 
J.  B.  and  R.  B.  Pumphrey 28 

DODGING  INDIANS  NEAR  PACKSADDLE  MOUNTAIN,  By  E.  A. 
(Berry)  Robuck,  Lockhart,  Texas 3 2 

FOUGHT  INDIANS  ON  THE  TRAIL,  By  Henry  Ramsdale,  Sabinal, 
Texas 3 6 

CYCLONES,  BLIZZARDS,  HIGH  WATER,  STAMPEDES  AND  IN- 
DIANS ON  THE  TRAIL,  By  G.  H.  Mohle,  Lockhart,  Texas 3 6 

MISTAKEN  FOR  COLE  YOUNGER  AND  ARRESTED,  By  S.  A. 
Hickok,  Karnes  City,  Texas 39 

A TRIP  TO  CALIFORNIA,  By  Jeff  M.  White,  Pleasanton,  Texas 40 

A THORNY  EXPERIENCE,  By  S.  B.  Brite,  Pleasanton,  Texas 44 

RAISED  ON  THE  FRONTIER,  By  Walter  Smith,  Del  Rio,  Texas 45 

PARENTS  SETTLED  IN  THE  REPUBLIC  OF  TEXAS,  By  Joseph  S. 
Cruze,  Sr.,  San  Antonio,  Texas 45 

SEVEN  TRIPS  UP  THE  TRAIL,  By  J.  F.  Ellison,  Ft.  Cobb,  Okla 47 

DROVE  A HERD  OVER  THE  TRAIL  TO  CALIFORNIA,  By  W.  E. 
Cureton,  Meridian,  Texas 4 7 

COMING  UP  THE  TRAIL  IN  1882,  By  Jack  Potter,  Kenton,  Okla.  50 

WHEN  A GIRL  MASQUERADED  AS  A COWBOY,  By  Samuel  Dunn 
Houston,  San  Antonio,  Texas 60 

A TRYING  TRIP  ALONE  THROUGH  THE  WILDERNESS,  By  Sam- 
uel Dunn  Houston,  San  Antonio,  Texas 66 

FIRST  CAMPMEETING  IN  GRAYSON  COUNTY 76 

THE  OLD  TRAILERS,  Poem  by  Luther  A.  Lawhon 79 

KILLING  AND  CAPTURING  BUFFALO  IN  KANSAS,  by  M.  A.  With- 
ers, Lockhart,  Texas 8l 

ON  THE  TRAIL  TO  NEBRASKA,  By  Jeff  D.  Farris,  Bryan,  Texas. ...  89 

ECHOES  OF  THE  CATTLE  TRAIL,  by  Jerry  M.  Nance,  Kyle,  Texas  90 

REMINISCENCES  OF  OLD  TRAIL  DRIVING,  By  J.  M.  Hankins, 

San  Antonio,  Texas ..  95 


494 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


Page 


“WILD  AND  WOOLLY”  ON  THE  CHISHOLM  TRAIL,  By  J.  N. 
Byler,  Dallas,  Texas 99 

WITH  HERDS  TO  COLORADO  AND  NEW  MEXICO,  By  G.-  W. 
Scott,  Uvalde,  Texas 100 

RECOLLECTIONS  OF  OLD  TRAIL  DAYS,  By  B.  A.  Borroum,  Del 
Rio,  Texas 102 

SIXTY  YEARS  IN  TEXAS,  By  William  J.  Bennett,  Pearsall,  Texas..l04 

HIGH-HEELED  BOOTS  AND  STRIPED  BREECHES,  By  G.  O.  Bur- 
row, Del  Rio,  Texas 106 

THE  GOOD  OLD  COWBOY  DAYS,  Poem  by  Luther  A.  Lawhon 107 

COURAGE  AND  HARDIHOOD  ON  THE  OLD  TEXAS  CATTLE 
TRAIL,  Sketch  of  Sol.  West,  San  Antonio,  Texas 110 

PLAYED  PRANKS  ON  THE  TENDERFOOT,  By  Henry  D.  Steele, 

San  Antonio,  Texas 115 

WHEN  A MAN’S  WORD  WAS  AS  GOOD  AS  A GILT-EDGED  NOTE, 

By  George  N.  Steen,  Bryan,  Texas 117 

LIVED  ON  THE  FRONTIER  DURING  INDIAN  TIMES,  By  Joe  F. 
Spettel,  Riomedina,  Texas 118 

MADE  A LONG  TRIP  TO  WYOMING,  By  H.  D.  Gruene,  Goodwin, 
Texas - 120 

MY  EXPERIENCE  ON  THE  COW  TRAIL,  By  F.  M.  Polk,  Luling, 
Texas 123 

PUNCHING  CATTLE  ON  THE  TRAIL  TO  KANSAS,  By  W.  B.  Harde- 
man, Devine,  Texas 128 

EXCITING  EXPERIENCES  ON  THE  FRONTIER  AND  ON  THE 
TRAIL,  By  C.  W.  Ackermann,  San  Antonio,  Texas 134 

OBSERVATIONS  AND  EXPERIENCES  OF  BY-GONE  DAYS,  By  Louis 
Schorp,  Riomedina,  Texas 141 

MET  QUANNAH  PARKER  ON  THE  TRAIL,  By  John  Wells,  Bart- 
lett, Texas 143 

TEXAS  COWBOYS  AT  A CIRCUS  IN  MINNEAPOLIS,  By  S.  H. 
Wools,  Alice,  Texas 149 

REMARKABLE  CAREER  OF  COLONEL  IKE  T.  PRYOR 1 53 

HABITS  AND  CUSTOMS  OF  EARLY  TEXANS,  By  L.  B.  Anderson, 
Seguin,  Texas 1 6 1 

HIT  THE  TRAIL  IN  HIGH  PLACES,  By  Jeff  Connolly,  Lockhart, 
Texas 166 

THE  MEN  WHO  MADE  THE  TRAIL,  By  Luther  A.  Lawhon,  San  An- 
tonio, Texas 172 

A FEW  THRILLING  INCIDENTS  IN  MY  EXPERIENCE  ON  THE 
TRAIL,  By  L.  B.  Anderson,  Seguin,  Texas 


180 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


495 


Page 


ESTABLISHED  THE  FIRST  PACKING  PLANT  IN  TEXAS,  Sketch  of 
W.  S.  Hall,  Comfort,  Texas 1 8 5 

MEMORIES  OF  THE  OLD  COW  TRAIL,  By  C.  H.  Rust,  San  An- 
gelo, Texas 1 87 

TRAIL  DRIVING  TO  KANSAS  AND  ELSEWHERE,  By  W.  F.  Cude, 

San  Antonio,  Texas 192 

WHEN  LIGHTNING  SET  THE  GRASS  ON  FIRE,  By  George  W. 
Brock,  Lockhart,  Texas 198 

“BIG  COWBOY  BALL” 203 

DID  YOU  EVER  DO  THE  SQUARE? 204 

EXPERIENCES  “TENDERFEET”  COULD  NOT  SURVIVE,  By  G.  W. 
Mills,  Lockhart,  Texas 205 

KILLING  OF  “BILLY  THE  KID,”  By  Fred  E.  Sutton,  Oklahoma 

City,  Okla . 216 

HIS  FATHER  MADE  FINE  BOWIE  KNIVES,  By  John  James  Haynes, 

San  Antonio,  Texas 218 

WILL  BUILD  A TEN-STORY  MARBLE  HOTEL,  Sketch  of  John 

Young,  Alpine,  Texas 223 

WHEN  AB.  BLOCKER  CLIMBED  A FENCE,  By  G.  M.  Carson,  Rock- 
spring, Texas 224 

THREE  TIMES  UP  THE  TRAIL,  By  W.  E.  Laughlin,  Bartlett,  Tex.. .225 

FOUND  A LOT  OF  SNUFF  ON  THE  TRAIL,  By  J.  A.  Blythe,  Del 
Rio,  Texas 226 


EIGHT  TIMES  UP  THE  TRAIL,  By  A.  N.  Eustace,  Prairie  Lee,  Tex.  227 

A LONG  TIME  BETWEEN  DRINKS,  By  Sam  Neill,  La  Pryor,  Texas  229 

SCOUTING  AND  ROUTING  IN  THE  GOOD  OLD  DAYS,  By  J.  M. 
Custer,  alias  Bill  Wilson 230 

THE  OLD  TRAIL  DRIVER,  Short  Poem  by  Branch  Isbell,  Odessa. 
Texas 23  3 

CATCHING  ANTELOPE  AND  BUFFALO  ON  THE  TRAIL,  By  A. 

Huffmeyer,  San  Antonio,  Texas 23  3 

DROVE  A HERD  TO  MISSISSIPPI  AND  ALABAMA,  By  W.  D.  H. 

Saunders,  San  Antonio,  Texas 239 

TRAIL  LIFE,  By  James  Gibson,  Alice,  Texas 241 

AN  INDIAN  FIGHT  NEAR  THE  LEONA  RIVER,  By  L.  A.  Franks, 
Pleasanton,  Texas ...246 

JACK  POTTER,  THE  “FIGHTING  PARSON,”  by  John  Warren 

Hunted 250 

SKETCH  OF  JOHN  S.  CHISUM,  by  James  M.  Waide,  Slidell,  Texas  258 


496 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


Page 


PREFERRED  TO  TAKE  OLDER  CATTLE  UP  THE  TRAIL,  By 

Thomas  Welder,  Beeville,  Texas 264 

CORNBREAD  AND  CLABBER  MADE  A GOOD  MEAL,  By  Joseph 
Cotulla,  Cotulla,  Texas 266 

A WOMAN  TRAIL  DRIVER,  By  Mrs.  A.  Burks,  Cotulla,  Texas 268 

THE  EXPERIENCE  OF  AN  OLD  TRAIL  DRIVER,  By  Richard  (Dick) 
Withers,  Boyes,  Montana 27  7 

TWICE  ACROSS  THE  PLAINS  IN  FOURTEEN  MONTHS,  By  Joe  S. 
Clark,  Orange  Grove,  Texas 288 

SKETCH  OF  CAPTAIN  JOHN  T.  LYTLE . 289 

SKETCH  OF  T.  A.  COLEMAN,  San  Antonio,  Texas 294 

SKETCH  OF  GEORGE  W.  EVANS,  Valentine,  Texas 295 

SKETCH  OF  JOHN  Z.  MEANS,  Fort  Davis.... 296 

COWBOY  LIFE  IN  WEST  TEXAS 296 

DAYS  GONE  BY,  By  Hiram  G,  Craig,  Brenham,  Texas 302 

SKETCH  OF  CHARLES  SCHREINER,  Kerrville,  Texas 325 

EARLY  CATTLE  DAYS  IN  TEXAS,  By  A.  W.  Capt,  San  Antonio 
Texas 328 

COST  OF  MOVING  A HERD,  By  Col.  Ike  T.  Pryor,  San  Antonio....3 32 

LOST  $21,000  ON  ONE  DRIVE,  By  John  S.  Kritzer,  Taylor,  Texas. .334 

SKETCH  OF  MOSE  WESLEY  HAYS,  San  Antonio,  Texas 33  7 

THE  PLATTE  WAS  LIKE  A RIBBON,  By  J.  W.  Jackson,  Bartlett, 
Texas 338 

PUT  UP  500  STEERS  TO  SECURE  #500,  By  E.  L.  Brounson,  Sam- 
ple, Texas 341 

SOME  INTERESTING  THINGS  SEEN  ON  THE  TRAIL,  By  John  B. 
Conner,  Yoakum,  Texas 343 

MADE  SEVERAL  TRIPS  UP  THE  TRAIL,  By  N.  L.  Word,  Alice, 

Texas JL 4 3 46 

PROBABLY  THE  OLDEST  FEEDER  IN  TEXAS,  By  R.  F.  Sellers, 

Matthis,  Texas 347 

SON  OF  A WELL  KNOWN  TRAIL  DRIVER,  By  R.  F.  Jennings,  San 
Antonio,  Texas 349 

WHEN  “LOUISIANA”  CAME  TO  TEXAS,  By  T.  M.  Turner,  San 
Antonio,  Texas 350 

PUT  UP  MANY  HERDS  FOR  D.  R.  FANT,  By  Thos.  M.  Hodges, 
Junction,  Texas 3 54 

WHEN  GEORGE  SAUNDERS  MADE  A BLUFF  “STICK,”  By  T.  T. 
Hawkins,  Charlotte,  Texas 35  5 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


497 


Page 

THE  MILK  OF  HUMAN  KINDNESS  IS  DRYING  UP,  By  George  F. 
Hindes,  Pearsall,  Texas 360 

TOOK  TIME  TO  VISIT  HIS  SWEETHEART,  By  H.  C.  Williams, 

San  Antonio,  Texas 365 

REMINISCENCES  OF  THE  TRAIL,  By  Jasper  (Bob)  Lauderdale, 

Pleasanton,  Texas 365 

FROM  TEXAS  TO  THE  OREGON  LINE,  By  W.  A.  Peril,  Harper, 
Texas A 3 72 

AN  OLD  FRONTIERSMAN  TELLS  HIS  EXPERIENCE,  By  Joe  Chap- 
man, Benton,  Texas 3 74 

PARENTS  WERE  AMONG  EARLY  COLONISTS,  By  Henry  Fest, 

San  Antonio,  Texas 3 80 

SKETCH  OF  PHIL  WRIGHT,  San  Antonio,  Texas 383 

REFLECTIONS  OF  THE  TRAIL,  By  George  W.  Saunders,  San  An- 
tonio, Texas 384 

BURIED  A COWBOY  IN  A LONELY  GRAVE  ON  THE  PRAIRIE, 

By  Alfred  (Babe)  Moye,  Kenedy,  Texas 413 

SOME  THINGS  I SAW  LONG  AGO,  By  George  Gerdes,  San  An- 
tonio, Texas 416 

WHEN  A BOY  BOSSED  A HERD,  Sketch  of  J.  D.  Jackson,  Alpine, 
Texas 4 420 

ATE  STOLEN  MEAT  ANYWAY,  By  Jim  Wilson,  Alpine,  Texas 422 

SPENT  A HARD  WINTER  NEAR  RED  CLOUD,  By  D.  S.  Combs, 

San  Antonio,  Texas 424 

EXPERIENCES  OF  THE  TRAIL  AND  OTHERWISE,  By  M.  J.  Ripps, 

San  Antonio,  Texas 426 

SKETCH  OF  COL.  J.  F.  ELLISON,  By  J.  F.  Ellison,  Jr.,  Fort 

Cobb,  Okla  432 

SIXTY-EIGHT  YEARS  IN  TEXAS,  By  Pleasant  Burnell  Butler,  Ken- 
edy, Texas 433 

MY  FIRST  FIVE  DOLLAR  BILL,  By  J.  L.  McCaleb,  Carrizo  Springs, 
Texas 439 

SLAKED  THEIR  THIRST  IN  A DRY  TOWN,  By  A.  D.  McGehee,  San 
Marcos,  Texas 443 

LIVED  IN  SAN  ANTONIO  AT  TIME  OF  WOLDS  INVASION,  By 
George  W.  West  of  Atascosa  County 444 

GOT  THEIR  NAMES  IN  THE  POT  FOR  SUPPER  AND  BREAKFAST, 

By  E.  M.  (Mac)  Storey,  Lockhart,  Texas 445 

SETTLED  ON  THE  FRONTIER  OF  TEXAS,  Sketch  of  Ed  B.  Eng- 
lish, Carrizo  Springs,  Texas 448 


498 


THE  TRAIL  DRIVERS  OF  TEXAS 


Page 


SOME  THRILLING  EXPERIENCES  OF  AN  OLD  TRAILER,  By  L.  D. 
Taylor,  San  Antonio,  Texas 452 

THE  MAN  WHO  HAD  HELL  IN  HIS  NECK,  By  Ab  Blocker,  San 
Antonio,  Texas 45  7 

MY  THIRD  AND  LAST  TRIP  UP  THE  TRAIL  IN  1886,  By  R.  J. 
Jennings,  San  Antonio,  Texas 465 

LISTENED  TO  THE  CHANT  OF  THE  NIGHT  SONGS,  By  I.  H. 
Elder,  Sanderson,  Texas 467 

SKETCH  OF  COL.  DILLARD  R.  FANT 467 

RELATES  OF  A TRIP  MADE  IN  1872,  By  M.  L.  Bolding,  Bart- 
lett, Texas  469 

PAID  THREE  DOLLARS  FOR  FIVE  GALLONS  OF  WATER,  By  Sam 
Garner,  Lockhart,  Texas 470 

SKETCH  OF  LEW  B.  ALLEN 473 

HAD  LESS  TROUBLE  WITH  INDIANS  THAN  GRANGERS,  By  J.  E. 
Pettits,  Goliad,  Texas *...474 

DROVE  CATTLE  FOR  DOC  BURNETT,  By  L.  Beasley,  Junction, 

Texas 475 

MY  TRIP  UP  THE  TRAIL,  By  W.  F.  Thompson,  Pearsall,  Texas 475 

SKETCH  OF  COL.  RICHARD  KING 477 

WORKED  WITH  CATTLE  FOR  OVER  SIXTY  YEARS,  By  E.  M. 
(Bud)  Daggett,  Fort  Worth,  Texas 478 

MADE  FIRST  TRIP  IN  1877,  By  B.  D.  Sherrill,  Rocksprings,  Tex.  480 

COWBOYS  DRESSED  UP  AT  END  OF  THE  TRAIL,  By  R.  J.  Jen- 
nings, San  Antonio,  Texas 481 

A TENDERFOOT  FROM  KENTUCKY,  By  J.  D.  Jackson,  Alpine, 

Texas 482 

A TRUE  STORY  OF  TRAIL  DAYS 484 

TRAVELING  THE  TRAIL  WITH  GOOD  MEN  WAS  A PLEASURE, 

By  J.  F.  Ellison,  Jr.,  Fort  Cobb,  Okla 484 

HAD  PLENTY  OF  FUN,  By  Gus  Black,  Eagle  Pass,  Texas 486 

ANOTHER  SUCCESSFUL  COWMAN,  By  J.  B.  Murrah,  San  Anto- 
nio, Texas  489 

SLUMBERED  THROUGH  THE  SHOOTING,  By  H.  H.  Peel,  Jourdan- 
ton,  Texas  490 

THE  REAL  COWBOY,  By  Bulah  Rust  Kirkland 491 


